Where are we, amidst these memories?
Events drape themselves upon every experience,
like Spanish moss --
Ghosts hanging from old Carolina’s live oaks –
If only we could speak
the language of shared memory, like limbs snapping
Sweet syllables, of our
days lived, and months spent after,
shadows in the daylight.
Work and obligation
Those murky swamps around our roots
Danger lies not in the poison of a snake
or some reptilian hunger –
But in our unspoken words
hanging from time
ghostly presences in our hearts
spectators to our own silences.