Friday, April 12, 2019


If you find me
in the sounds I make,
or don't make,

then you know my father
was tight-lipped, not
given to wasting

breath; and you know
there was a grove
and west of the grove

hog chores, and west
from there, the sun
going down on

a terrible
longing, a wanting
more than chores or grove

could settle. One
could not, standing
in it, know what that

wanting was. So,
if you found me
in the sounds I've made,

then -- please, I ask --
tell me what it is
I've been looking for.

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