Lonely
is bootless
in late spring snow.

Happy
is bootless on asphalt
in highest August. 

Chagrinned:
where are the boots
I left here?

Angry:
bootless but charging
the armed line leveling
their weapons. 

Sad is bootless
on a city street, guarding
against the heavy tread
of blindly walking hordes. 

Bootless
is human.  Bootless
is how we begin, how
we end 

awed by the universe:
falling down bootless
under the stars in any season,
careless of mood.