far afield

we saw him at the grocery store —
an empty cart, a vacant stare —
a man who’d always worn a smile,
miles, now, from anywhere

the earth he’d tilled lay in the sun,
as he kept at the life he’d known,
but empty was a table chair
and inside, no light ever shone,

for she, who gaunt became, had gone;
and he himself had dug the earth
in which she rested, free from pain,
but what was all of this still worth?

the smell of soil freshly turned
brings moisture to his eyes, because
he wishes that dirt covered him,
so he could walk the fields

she does

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