The walk

Between broken cobblestones,
and shattered wedding china,
a discarded oak cane 
soaks in the mist.

I walk

for lichens,

ferns and bread crumbs.

An empty leash pendulates,
as clocks unwind
on clasped hands. 
Rust hollows
a proud bust.
I return-
famished,
having fed that thing,
called hope.