I see them hobbling

down foothills

where I live now in retreat,

what’s left bulky on their backs,

obscure as porcupines

under folds of stocking hats

and runaway beards,

buddies, brothers,

uncles, fathers, cousins,

circling a lost LZ.


I see them puzzled at highway exits

like elk or bear

when winter lasts too long,

a species still wanting to live,

destinations scribbled on cardboard signs,

ears tied with bandanas

hiding the sound of the torn air

that split them through the middle,

the sound no one can explain,

that no one else will ever hear.



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