my shoes sit on the floor neatly,
the left next to the other,
facing a shy angle from the bed
with their toes ready to walk to class.
I had since forgotten about them,
packing and reading and such,
but their white laces tangle in
and out and underneath their tongues,
underneath their soles, lips, heels and
eyes. We wait, I think they say,
We wait for the sun to rise
so we can feel flight and friction and earth
again and again and again.