Barefoot

Like stepping out of bed

at the height of the night

with the cold floor on my feet

sweeping away overheated dreams,

like Moses exposing his toes

so that sand could scrape away

their caked murder-blood

before the burning bush,

I sacrifice the status shown

by shoes shined or scuffed

or sneakers bright or beaten-up

before the seen but unperceived Presence,

who cleaned and healed his friends’ feet

with cool water and his own clothes,

not sickened by the stink and stickiness

of thick toenails, opaque and yellow,

who let his feet be pierced

and his toes cramp and curl,

the nail tightening the nerves

until they twisted and tore,

who casts off sandals and feet

and the trappings of human dignity

and dons the appearance of vine and wheat

now lifted high before me.