And They Walk Us

The posture the hot-white
Concrete absorbs as my shadow
Does not look how I feel:
Like the conquering, wishful. 

They are Straight-eyed,
Cut from stone,
And leash-led by mixed
Pacific island women 
Who compare vastly
Colored chrome chains
As they walk us. 

And they walk us. 

My peripheral shades a 
Six-foot horizon of blurred
Black hemispheres
That burn away 

Charred dreamcatchers 
That will never perfectly recite 
Netted stories 

If they only watched 
Their solitary shadows
Being everything they are not. 

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