Two Years Gone
I'm two years from here
alone with the echo of the hills.
You were made of stone --
piece by careful piece they built you.
I watched as you churned to life.
You see, I come with my ancestor's traitor heart
and his black hair.
Two years gone, I wake to the sound of your voice,
heavy as railroad ties,
and walk, abandoned,
until the morning sun remembers me.
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