Where a slow & gradual greening, well

deserved, long season not yet behind us, but even
now the talk—low water levels, how much need already

for a good soaking, some overnight & steady, what’s
pushing up too thirsty, that wilt inevitable. Or where

a small boy walking home, schoolbagged & shouldering
into the afternoon’s gust, thinks he sees something that

might resemble his whole life, how all of a sudden
& out of nowhere the day appeared, like every other

single thing. & in it, too, there, where staring out again
through the window sealed tight against any season,

& thinking my god how much more time the body
takes now to heal, how slowed every small grief made

solitary no matter, thinking how it’s never just one thing
undone or gone wrong, never just one loss turned elegy.





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