The Known Scatter Away
They stand on the pointy end
of compass arrows,
friends and strangers
scattering, flickering now
like fireflies in a jar someone else
is carrying yet further away.
The young are born
on the far side of the moon
where nobody looks
for the earth.
Of course the dead have left,
but you still have their business cards,
debts. owed to you or to them
not money, but hand-me-down memories
those 'post-its' once pinned to the hope
of a shared journey.
You suddenly know you are alone,
the only fish in a shrinking pond;
rooted now by the very long roads
that brought you here.
Will you follow the calling winds,
will you backpack up to another peak
that goes nowhere?
Your are a veteran of foreign engagements,
time has so slowly
placed your heart in a box of pressed flowers,
a box muffled by plush and velveteen
one as large as any coffin
its four walls marked
'Do not open until the last train
leaves forever.'
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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