When your tendons began to disintegrate
from the weaves in the told tales
and the luster of polished facades
trembled at your piercing stare
at the silenced waves retracting back
from your shores to the stone tossed
with the vision a visible indivisible shackles
on a mask of tattered, thinning hairs
sullied by fury, cowed by shunning
torn from the host persona, misrepresenting.
That was when you noticed your bare feet in the moonrise.
And I was just returning from my long walk in them shoes.