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
go now
listen
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
