Michael
He always said
you’ve got to pump your nerve up
if you’re going to live
any place worth living.
And his eyes
would glint off across Dark Lake
like late September sunlight.
He’d give you to suppose
there was treasure out there
if you could find it.
A rocky trail, he’d never tell you
what the treasure was.
Up to you to figure out,
he might’ve said.
Up to you to revise your map,
your compass. Magnetic north,
the pull of faith.
The way he’s gone.
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