skipping stones, throwing roses
a rock wall and jumping in puddles
you'll remember the tree forts, grass hutches
the trails and groves and the cold,
meandering breeze that puts your
sweater on
and back to love and loss
the lonely days, tiresome winters,
afterthoughts premonitions
but a creekside babble, cold
beverage to remedy the tired sentences
of regret as the sunset
brings on a separate bit of reality
the night air, moonlight and blindness of
the treeless meadow. and when
the car can't get any dustier you
brush aside the past and carry on;
always ascending
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