“I live between the cracks of a mountain’s
Soul”, The old man said. His great time-carved arms
Stretched in knotted leather strength; his skin, tan
With Nature’s bruising intensity. Charms
Hung from his gnarled neck in casual
Superstition, shaking with his calm drawl.
“I tread the blanketed paths of your long
Forgotten past” he continued. “I seep
With the Memory’s flow from the Lost Song.”
I left Old Man Bone-bag, for he was mad.
