One blanket, no shoes

We are many, I am just one,
who have no days to number
no nights to sleep.

Find us on the trail of
discarded shoes, hiding in the green
washed by the soil.

Desperate to be found
but afraid of the finding:
the casting aside.

Heavy with weary acceptance
and watching through hooded eyes.
I am just one

who sulks 'neath a sombrero
shadowing a sensuous longing
to notice if you notice me.