Walk at Easter – a poem by Jeff Burt

Walk at Easter

Why call it a false step,
that sudden stretch
in the dark when the foot fails
to find the even earth
and plummets down a void
before hitting bottom?

Why not a true step,
the embarrassing lurch
into ignorance, hands
clutching the unsupportive air,
arch breaking through the scrim
of comfort into another step of faith?

All love’s a pitch,
a wobble on the walk
of terrain, a theft of the firm
assurance turned in reach
to an unknown other.

Jeff Burt lives in California. He works in mental health, and has work in The Monarch Review, LitBreak, Terrene, Nature Writing, and won the 2017 Cold Mountain Review poetry prize.