Sunday, July 27, 2014



On the gravel bed of a railroad yard,
A mist rose in tatters on frosty air,
And capturing starlight cold, bright, and hard,
Drifted on soft bits of breeze, barely there.
Echoes of footfalls long absent then stirred,
The attention of memories, asleep
Since last the steps of the living were heard;
Their passing recorded both strong and deep.
For the soles of souls caressed with their feet,
The sweet willing earth that welcomed their touch,
Straining with every atom to greet,
The beings who altered its form so much.
We can’t walk unheard, nor can pass unfelt;
Not even beyond where humans have dwelt.

Mick McKellar
July 2014

Our footprints are on the moon, our tire treads on Mars, both moons and planets bear our scars.


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