“So I plant acorns”,
she whispers to me.
This, after speaking about the world
as we know it
dying.
I don’t know her
but I know she likes
the break the rules,
has a face without artifice, stained sweatshirt sleeves.
We have brought ourselves here
to this place where we can hear howls
reverberate between mountain and sea.
I have told her about my dead father
and what is missing
now that I cannot hear his voice.
What to do with so much to lose?
“So I plant acorns”, she whispers,
so quietly, quietly
sharing hope for something to live
beyond us.
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