I know where
I have been. Lines which
crisscross
my face lead from the Arch in
St. Louis across
the Bridge at Sydney.
Don’t be
afraid. It takes years to grow
weary from
traveling among the briars.
Pick the
berries where you find them.
Holes in my
stockings mean I have left
a trail across
the earth behind me, tiny
fibers of my
being too small to follow.
Chris
Hanch 11-7-15
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