Monday, May 22, 2023

16 again

 



The bats are flying through the dusk 

Like they’re running from something 


And I am 16 again on the way home /

18 and thinking of a boy I never loved /

I am 23 and my legs stick to the seat


The seasons come and go and bring up old aches 

They never go away but sometimes they’re closer to the surface 

As the indigo night reaches out towards the setting sun 

Always a hand’s breadth too late


I run my feet through the wet grass 

I am 7 and I am in love

With the earth and all it offers of itself to me


Year after year

Who could’ve dreamt of such a thing? 

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