i wake this morning with someone else's voice
not even the lone song of the unseen bird
in green and gray sky can shake it loose
i hear the crunch of gravel under foot
as i walk past silver mailboxes
raised red flags
signal communication
waiting in dark confines
there is kudzu and bee
water and vine
the rain and the rail
i search for my fathers footprints
but the path has been swept clean and i am left to travel
by memory or chance
a tiny quiet pushes up and out of my eyes
clouding each step
redemptive and cleansing
NH
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