In your middle age

it’s faded, resembling the rudimentary

art of a child who has worked hard

to stay just inside the thin black lines

of this tiny universe, that rests

atop the frayed edge of your canvas shoe.

Sun, moon, lonely star twist with each shake

of the foot, spin around the fibula

endlessly. I can’t help but stare

at this modest insignia of youth

and wonder why you chose this picture

to brand yourself, forever.

Maybe out of arrogance you thought

you could carry the world with you.

Or maybe you hoped the universe

would give you strength with every step

and stride toward the thing that called you forth.

Whatever the reason, it’s something

to spin stories next to deep water,

glowing campfires, and relaxed grins.

It is, at least, your own reminder

of double dares and deep ambition.