The roadside shrines
drip homemade grief
blurring the side of the road
with loss between here and there.
Names and dates
etched alongside the asphalt
witnessed by the trees.
Who comes to remember Michael
and place the flowers for each seasons' holiday?
Sacred space, hallowed ground
where the souls have slipped away
remind us who they were, and when they left us.
Hungering for their faces and the easy laughter of the lost.
The flowers heavy with memory.
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