Poem: Two Years After My Father’s Death: | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
Even though out words were once sharp edges
Deep painful gashes
And heart flesh left hanging
There are some things that I would tell you now.

About the mysteries
And there are secrets.

I discovered the hollow beyond the nearby ridge
Had you once walked there?

And the edge of the green river
Has called to me
I come often.

There are mysterious roots and sweetly shaped stones.

I listen
To the sounds along old hidden trails
Had you also heard the wind mourning?

I would wait then
And hope that you would look at me.

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