Zeno of Citium proclaims we are a dog
tied to a cart. Before us winds infinite
paths to walk as long as it’s forward.
Some of us shuffle in the hand-crafted road,
well worn stones carried
from a now flooded quarry. Others tread
in short grass or crash through weeds
cracking cellulose of chlorophyll forgotten.
Some dredge the dirt with their nose,
line tight against the neck, choking
on purpose. A flower passes. A butterfly
with two white wings hovers above
a boot print puddle, flirting with
its reflection — all signs of those
that walked before us, yesterday.
© Trapper Markelz 2020
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