They came from hungry cities, failed farms
Towns with empty shops, under the banner
C.C.C. to lay these walls of stone
That stretch in hopscotch pattern
Along the Blue Ridge crest.
Names forgotten, faces blurred
In old photographs, yet here
In a curve of rock that holds
The mountain from the trail
The clear print of a hobnail boot
Pressed in a concrete patch.
A boy with small feet, perhaps
Yearning for a path home, stopped
For a moment and stuck a foot
Through time, a single step striding
Out from the dark of the thirties.
Portrait of the poet by Kira Sotos