Stacey
Where are you? I’m at your last known position. Are you whispering in my ear? Crying but a single tear? Wondering if anyone can hear? Spirits who exit the earth, in ways that demand a wider berth, Never can Rest 24 seven. Looked for you 100 times, with volunteers first, then search and rescue pretended friends. Even went on Hispanic TV, for a very short time, to generate interest in thee. Just in case the 18 wheel hearse,headed to ElPaso, crossing the Rio Grande. One thousand dollars, didn’t seem quite enough, to open but never close the book. But dead head loads, need fuel expenses, who cares how high the border fences. Who knew a multi colored why, would on my driveway be drew, for your marker below and in the sky.Because tragedies so easily forgot, shouldn’t be be like sand in the hour glass, hot one day, the next forgot, deja vue, like the biblical lot.
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