Poem 18

A man came up to speak.
No shirt. Some paint across his face.

The moom shone down and stuck in hos shiny hair. Hair down his back.

He spoke a whisper to the man.

The man whispered back. A child made small.

Once in Colorado I foumd a body laying there. I took that body here so I might understand its life before it is set to the ground.

“Do you now understand”
The stranger wants to know.

The man assents.

Then come with me. Across these hidden paths. I know a sacred place to go.

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