With a gaping mouth,
I sought an image to describe the knot in my chest,
the car door jammed -
the land divided into two new car scents.
We row toward the oar wet with deer blood
and onward to the edge that must be crossed
with crosses hammered into it.
I see their footprints in fresh snow.
The soft spot of their childhood heads
pushed branchless into the parched earth.
Gray amnesia swirling after songbirds in its dome.
The distance they traveled
chipped down to a few powdery beginnings
in the arroyo with flies buzzing out of it.
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