Gloria Keeley

Bare Soles


we stopped for four-leaf clovers
along the river path
amid the wild corn
unnoticed by the day moon
tangles of rock
sharp underfoot
we stared into
the trout-filled waters
- the farther away the fish
the more we thought about them -
birds dipping for food
wings shiny
feathers enclosed in
boxes of tissue
birds now turning
this way and that
the way your hand
does in water
pitching our tent to sleep in the mountains
our night camp fire
glowing like meteors
a uke in the distance
wraps its moon notes
around the dips and dells
until evening trees disappear
into the stars
words fade into music
over the uke’s strums
I tie my feet to the roots
of a star jasmine
the blues overhead
flow with the wind
through the pipe of night
dreaming into the sun



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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!