THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



A Treetop View. To All: Adieu...

With light and spade the forest dark,
Left nothing but another's mark.
Through black of green the path was trod,
To chosen spot to till the sod.

A lamp set down on fallen tree.
The worksite lit for eyes to see.
Spade is thrust into untouched earth.
Whist digger digs with merry mirth.

A hole of size after hours past,
Provides enclosure for lower caste.
Soil dost rest in piles high.
As hands are fixed on sacks of lye.

So heavy was the final toss,
As he lay limp by foot of cross.
The task complete a job well done,
The earth repacked. The bounty won.

As lamp recededs into erie black,
Its holder walks no looking back.
For what the digger fails to see,
Is the poor soul in the hole is me.

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