I keep finding you like fossils.
Brittle dusty relics unearthed
from the bottoms of boxes
and drawers. A pair of your
shoes in the trunk of my car,
still petrified with dried river
mud, from that time we hiked
along the Cahaba.
We hiked the river years ago,
but chip away the clay and the shape
of your foot is in my hand again.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
