My little feet, unbound,

explore the head space

and wiggle around –

ten little men

with polished faces

are sock jostling;

Big, who takes the brunt,

the lean, the weight,

who makes the point,

and moves the speck,

mounts camaraderie

on his brother,

explores new territory;

the phalanx splays

and closes rank,

pulling in Small, the friend

who keeps them balanced;

and the unassuming middlemen,

the supporters,

quietly get on, as they do –

while my head on the ground,

ungagged and naked-faced,

wonders what is so beautiful

about little feet.