Thursday, October 24, 2019


It changed
not at all
it changed

No longer able to see.
The eyes are gone.
Not even sockets
left. Just a few
fistfuls of grit
Crumbs of bone
on my lips

I press myself against the earth
just like you did that night
your dog Arlie got hit by a car
you called me screaming
high on mushrooms
clawing this same mud, crying why

And later your mother

A sapling planted in the spot
Not full grown yet

And now, you there as well
Lapped up by roots, or so
it's comforting to think

You as bark and leaves
texture and shade
near the creek

It changed
not me
I don't know why
it changed

I press my dirty palms
to my face

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