A Little Ramble (for D.E.G.)
Will I look for you
when you are gone
inside the hush where words
are wed quietly to one another,
in the sound of my own cough
becoming not unlike your own,
between the geological syncline
strata of a road cut chronology,
through windows bathed in sun
warming bones, aging pale skin,
behind the cold, low Nordic hum
of Jean Sibelius' slow 'Finlandia,'
along an endless wave of Durum wheat
rolling out below a wide, wild Dakota sky,
somewhere beyond a shadow of a doubt cast
upon my heart that you are there, somewhere.
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