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Remembering the searches

Here’s an old poem refurbished like looking back at a mountain already hazed by distance:


October 31


Tonight I dress in bones

for the boy who slipped into forest,

never seen again;

and the man spirited from his mummy bag

by river carrying the evidence away;

and the palsied old lady lying

among a leafless bramble of wizened berries.


This morning, sun rises eye-level,

lighting oak-leaf candles as I descend

the trail, following my dog who knows

the way through mountain-misery

to a clearing made for spirits

a great stone at the edge of a living world.


Below, grinding-rocks of people

who lived here and passed away.

Wind and sunset over canyon and ridge.

What lies above and under

farther than I can see.


~ Taylor Graham




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