Deborah Elliott Deutschman

You can always tell
Who they are
By their clothes
Their hair
Their way of talking
Without saying a word

In city streets
In the dead of winter
Drifting
Beyond reproach
In summer clothes
Disheveled hair
Mumbling words
To the moon & the wind

In forests
Along rivers
One of them went
& never returned
Her walking cane
Found on the wild grass

In dark places
Rooms of the past
One of them stayed
&never left
A parchment of stars
Witness to her days

They listen for years
The words they speak
That others
May hear
What can never
Be heard

I know
I follow them