in defense of copies; digital, analog, genetic.

two days ago,
shirtless
in a backyard.
hidden
by fence.
chickens
need their freedoms,
so gates need
unclasping.
water needs spilling.
food, tossed
towards excited clucking.

barefoot and shirtless,
uncomfortable
in the comfort
of morning warmth.

my skin folds,
my knees bend,
my body is tender
and soft.

uncomfortable,
my body gives
and always i
take.

and today,
in long pants and
wool socks.
in insulating fleece and
coats proofed against rain.
in leather shoes
on graveled streets.

a small rock,
bounces up from under
my treading foot.
perfectly,
it lands in the gap
between heel of flesh
and heel of leather shoe.

my foot is tender
and soft
in its casing.
the small stone
presses into my sole
with every downward step.
i feel it
rolling and rattling
as i bring my foot
briefly into the air.

the plants have grown
during my short absence.
uncomfortable,
i remove my leather shoe
and shake free the small stone.
i watch it bounce
on the faded old carpet.
i place it in my hand,
tender, soft,
and take it to
the door,
take it to the
gravel patch
meant for parking cars.

yesterday,
the violence
in my body
opened me.
today,
tender,
soft,
i am open.
just enough, just
enough,
for the perfection of
small stone,
the tiny gap
between fleshed heel
and leather shoe.
the sole dimpled
by stone.