Walking Blues

i lug my silence into a blue forest
its lost cloud

loud with jays jeering
at my blue hat

what makes it so high
and lonesome on the map

baptised from below
in the water table

enabling the spirit to speak
in broken oak—

no hoax this glossolalia
a cross-worded puzzle

muzzling all green thoughts
leaf by leaf

grief needs no bait to bite
no hook to hold

old as the reflection
in a phone’s black glass

amassing unknown calls
vibrating on silent

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