My heart drops in my chest
at that cry from nowhere,
as if the ground might open
or this friend, despite his age,
might uproot and, with heavy,
echoing steps, shaking off the moss
and casual growth of ferns,
set out to do what I haven’t,
holding forth his suppressed voice
like the echo of an explosion,
and join the groaning chorus
that puts me to shame. 

 

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