Empty field hard New England morning
Stalks bleached mashed bent cracked grounded
Surrounded by deciduous woods
And a farm in the distance
Across the sky
As it was in Germany then
We sometimes slept next to the Wald
This though Connecticut
And you weren’t there
On morning wind
My sons were
And I slapped a friend on the back to encourage his travels
Language “can allow all of us, even the congenitally blind, to see with another person’s eyes.” - Oliver Sacks