found path

go down an ancient path they said
before it fades
it’s your father’s grandfather’s
their wrongs sprouting in weeds
khaki bur milk thistle chickweed
later ask why
go now
there are many voices
oxalis dandelion sorrel buckhorn

I heard her in the garden
as she skipped
her feet tapping to the call of
thrush high in the cypress
swirling in
van Gogh strokes

it was her I wanted to hear
not the other voices
they came gathering shadows
scraping edges from the past
encircling the path

the story the real one
can only be guessed
catching bits of sky
as it falls at my feet
the girl running away