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studies in memory viii: streetlamp

at the end of an era, we trudged
back into the lazy orange glow from which we were born
a little older
and a little better loved
than we were before
from inside the burnt light’s embrace we could not see the stars
just amber puddles
and each other, happy winded faces full of
dying youth and adventures we wear now like
pearls on necks craned to see our destinies
holding hands and silently
praying that our sandy carefree world would never end
praying that there would always be another tree to climb
another song to sing off-key
another giddy game of midnight tag
another reason just to be
ourselves and love each other
as we were,
and not as
who we were going to be
in the morning



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