The feet of those I love
have walked these gravel roads,
and the feet of those
who hurt me.
They love this place the same—
how the sunset turns the creek
to fire, and haybales
stand like sentinels.
Those who love me have walked
this way, and those who hate
me have done the same.
The creek sings on for our grieving.
Breathe your peace on all
who walk in the dappled shade,
oh spirit of the water-wind.
Be kinder than my memory.
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