We were raised in Sugar Camp Hollow 
on Passenger Creek 
where them reb soldiers camped it is 
said 
and the confederate gold is buried there 
or so the story goes 

and I knew you there 
and you and I both knew 
to leave those grounds 
where the small creek meets Passenger. 
We both knew to leave 
those grounds 
before dark 
You and I 
shared the secrets of Sugar Camp Hollow, 
them rebs, 
that gold. 

The neighbor Simpson 
told the tale, 
his skinny fingers 
waving, pointing to that 
spot where the springs 
flow to create that 
small 
creek 
that place 
where dreams are 
formed. 

A poem for you 
tonight 
Sugar Camp Hollow 
Passenger Creek, 
them rebs, 
that gold, 

and I pause beside this spring 
of remembrance 

this moment is 
a thin stream of water 
flowing 
from a tiny spring 
somewhere