Bound by the soil
The richness of knowing
Self, home, heart.
Who she was there was only
As true as the roots that clenched
County to country
Tree to earth.

There was a ****** to
Each footstep
Having paced each step thousands of times.
Some sets of eyes marked the way
As much as a
Curve in the road;
A sign on the street.

Perhaps it was the memory
The recollection layered in thick
Varying shades of red, gold
Ash and dust
On everything to see.
So many whispers, all vying to eddy against her skin
Her flesh.