Mention of mountain
ledges reminds her to speak
of that smashed 

pump and its heel
in her street last night, in its gutter
trap this morning. How 

do they lose
their mates, a pair severed
and shut down, a high-top hanging 

on the old telephone
wire by its one good
lace. Not the first, 

nor the last, she crosses 

yesterday’s steps
in tomorrow’s unpredictable
boots. She’s gotten this far so far.