looking for a friend who knows
their names and places
to walk with and remember.
He was absent--I felt he might
be gone for good. Without a guide,
I climbed the paths of bone-filled hills.
I don't know the names or their places,
but I know the spirit of this place,
its rhythm and emerging crests,
angles added by this tortured continent,
its heaving body.
I know this pocket of recycled cells
cooling between raw trees
and uncaptured breezes.
No comments:
Post a Comment