NINE
I know how old I was but it is the year I keep thinking about
the last Sunday in August, barely my age, the tracks curving north
through a heat ripple, a portal
impossible to enter, we agreed
-- or exit, someone added
the thought had not occurred to us
someone's cousin, a visitor to our world
as if the world was something to depart from, was how I heard her
this kid, too young to say such a thing, younger than me in '71
Friday, April 27, 2012
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