Marie Burns and I were mourning the passing of our colleague Bob Childers. We were sipping a beer near Ithaca by the lake. We talked of the incongruity of Bob's enormous impact and the complete obscurity of his departure. A napkin was nearby --along with a pen.... Late winter 2008.
Trailers and tallgrass where the buffalo roam
scrappy dry oak trees bout a thousand years old
just down the lane from old Woody's road
dust flies in the mirror rocks ping below
If a tree fell in the forest did it happen at all?
But the silence is deafening when the tallest tree falls
Beneath stillwaters plays on the radio
Orion's wide belt is starting to show
Bibles are thumping just down the road
smoke trails from a chimney just ahead of the cold
When the sun goes down
through sand and time
its just your light
that makes the red dirt shine
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