Another death, another love shed

into earth, my old body made nude

again, a hairy burn in the crowd

of unknowable family. My wife

and son are behind the rock mound

we all plunder to give to the body

its roughest blanket, still life. Days

later my beloved suggests a pedicure,

an act of self-care I’ve never had.

I don’t know the name of the woman

given the task of washing my feet

and painting each nail shades of sea,

delicate greens, but I know now how

easy it is for a man to walk on water.