Or maybe to region here requires the opposite of

oblivion, that constant knowing an elsewhere
just across the river or over state lines where

bronzed markers note all the sameness & one
distinction—miles from or elevation—or say

on this date to mean every history can alter
what we call borders & how defined. Maybe

dusk in summer in any small town in this
country stretching wide resembles every

promise-made letting-down sometimes
we think could be nostalgia but instead

the impression disappointment leaves
on any façade or stone-face or street

& curbing off or away, that almost or
almost enough, that near worn-out.





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