Do you ever wonder what your shoelaces were thinking
while you were out walking – and they come back
carrying burrs and whirligigs and looped up in ways
you never thought possible? Is it a fun sort of chaos
they impose, that takes an hour to unravel
with the help of some straightened pin and a wealth
of patience? Or was it you who got tied up in knots
when you saw a doe dead on the ground
at the back of the marsh, where even its hooves
are now covered in maggots?

Perhaps your shoes carry some of that stain, too
from pulling it by the ears to a nearby stump,
not wanting to touch too much of the dead,
and remembering its eyes, now, as you pick out
a couple nasty twists, rolled up in sweet
uncuttable complexion.