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August 12, 2015
It is a day
like any other.
And memory sees you coming
now,
sees you coming down the street
And I can already feel the touch of your
voice,
can already feel the bump
of your hip against mine
as we travel where the hedge
has narrowed the walk
so that I put my arm
around you and we are
stepping, a tight
three-legged competitor
leaning into life.
This is where we
turn toward the park;
we are crossing the rails,
picking up the pace
looking at me
looking at you
heads almost touching now,
eye lines crossing,
pink shoes.