the tread's floated not touching ground or water,
not alighting yet,it doesnt,dares not,because it didnt,
hasnt,
, fears the hurt of alighting on the mud, and water like a
hoof, heavy, of a horse, or beast,
not because it knows not the depth, or the feel, 
but wants to tread heavy, on the grass, now touches the
wetness on the hairs, and they stand,
elated,cold,
and aloof,almost, ignoring fears, plunges ,
careless of the rocky ground, the infested caves beneath the
stump of his feet, 
whistles past the weeds , strong weeds of many droughts
victorious, past them and stumps that axes broke, and river
beds where worn and muddy the tires would not roll, 
but yet,
the feet alight on ground no longer murky and strange,
it knows now what it feels 
like
on the dust, pure and dry,
where it meanders now,
as it did, as it was meant to, 
long ago
in the beginning.