Ken's Poetry

Footsteps

Last night’s footsteps
burned through sprinkled snow
stark black on white,
now frozen hard.

Man with hatched tread,
woman’s pointed shoe,
child’s foot patterned
into the cake soft snow,
preserved like dinosaur trails.

Creatures unknown
passing in the night,
a mystery, a dream,
warm bodies close yet far
that we will never know
embossed by snow and ice.

Warm rains will come,
wear out these feet
that rush into the past.