Poem: Paths


Not the trains,

But the broken ties

Of the abandoned railway.


Not the highway,

But the trails, overgrown, buried

under rotted trees.


The derailments of an unplanned life.

The wanderings of an uncompassed hike.


Too late now for Romeo,

I hunt the tracks beneath the rust

The path beneath the brush.


Walking up the pebbled driveway

To your white new door

Empty hands,

This beating heart,

A cup of breath.

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