You
who slept
while mountain roads
bore deep
within the earth
and I drove
all night
alone
far into valleys,
do you
not know
awake, asleep,
my dreams
have Southern voices?
Do you
who felt
the thinness
of the night
like silk
across your shoulders,
really not know
that into rain
and out again
my road recites
old fears:
What if I should call to you?
What if you should answer?
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