INITIAL
In the bark of the tree
write once, time.
Each letter scratched,
each drop
left stuck in the trunk that gesture
indelible
that light in the eyes with which we sculpt
,
dint of insisting,
life difficult for us today remember. Your initial
and mine as a spell to invent ever renewed every Saturday
classless
each bike race to reach the sky.
many times have I broken after my name on the receipts,
tired grass and the mortgage, without the syllables
ripped smelled like wood, damp earth
,
of mud on shoes.
What has become of your letter,
mine.
What will become of us.
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