Paths by O.T. Park
I like walking worn down tracks
Where the beat of human feet
Has steadily marked the time.
Paths where trees eclipse the sky
and where dabbled light anoints
The knotted and gnarled ground.
Long lanes scarred by raised roots
Which form illegible inscriptions;
Where vegetation creates a nave
and the trail itself an endless aisle.
A placid place that celebrates
Feet moving in communion.