I met you in the coal-light, by a porch lamp, low. Three slow steps in gravel, and you said, “hello.” No lesson in your mouth. No fix in your hands. Just quiet in your gaze - and I could stand. So I thank you, Appalachia, for the mercy in your eyes. For the way you held my shadow when I couldn’t hold mine. You kept it plain. Kept it honest. Love with nothing to prove. I don’t know where you went to, but I’m changed by you. We talked like creek and stone, simple, slow. You said, “Respect ain’t jewelry. It’s how you let go.” No firework. No show. Just a steady flame. And something in me shifted when you spoke my name. So I thank you, Appalachia, for the mercy in your eyes. For the way you held my shadow when I couldn’t hold mine. You kept it plain. Kept it honest. Love with nothing to prove. I don’t know where you went to, but I’m changed by you. Now I count my days by kindness, not by noise. I leave a chair for strangers, and I listen for their voice. If I fall, I hear you softly: “Breathe. Be true.” You stayed a little moment - and it pulled me through. Some nights I hear a train-hum, far and thin. A pine-wind on the ridge line, and you’re in it. I don’t chase what won’t be found. I don’t beg. I walk the road you opened, step by step. So I thank you, Appalachia, for the mercy in your eyes. For the way you held my shadow when I couldn’t hold mine. You kept it plain. Kept it honest. Love with nothing to prove. I don’t know where you went to - but I know there’s you. And I don’t know where you went to, but my love won’t be through.
