A Kickapoo grandmother pulled
deerhide moccasins out of her bosom,
said, If you really want these
to fit your feet,
walk in the dew a little,
walk in the dew.

She lived in a cattail hut
ringed by mountains.
There was no road to her house.

I think of her every day
as I touch the forks and curtains,
the pens and melons,
that line this life,
feeling how we grow together,
things and the life beyond things,
one gradually fitted motion
moving home across the grass.