They carry heavy packs -
without much to sustain them
It's all uphill
shale
slides
water crossings
and murmering rumbles
make it slippery
to balance in a place where
fire charred what once was
and mine remediation violates
these mountains once again
The work is crippling -
consider the three pronged
politics that push back against
every new, good thing
Exhaustion must set in
like a bloody cowl one wants
to shake loose.
Still, I witnessed
them stop and ponder a flock of butterflies
sipping moisture from the mud
in the middle of Main Street.
He stooped down
urging one winged beauty
gently onto his forefinger.
It lingered - savoring the salt -
the salt of sweat and tears?
In one moment, I caught
a glimpse of the enchanted
children they must have been.
I hope they keep seeing like this...
because only beauty will
save this place -
this place waiting
under heaven to be born
again, again
They keep sheep dogging the
remaindered flock to
move forward - steadfast
in doing what they do
For such a time as this...
they came
they stay
they look ahead
for what will be a
durable, enduring
tomorrow
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