It is difficult to walk in the mud that covers an Oso sad town.
Glacial grief in the valley of the shadow of Slide Hill.
The search-and-rescue crew walks single file,
Mud suctions every step.
Trying as they might not to sink up to their waists,
Throwing down plywood to create walkways
Slowly moving muck, as heavy as fresh concrete,
Electronic detectors, beeping.
Hoping to find someone that found a bit of air.
But … when they discover human remains,
Working feet stop and the silence is absorbed by the mud.
Then a chorus of chainsaws resume.
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