city-smoke-dawn

Letter to a Cousin on the Eve of His Wedding

It is ruptured, but there is no scarring
I am too old for scarring
In the distance, a moon wanes
Or waxes, I am too old to know
The difference: it is yawning
And I wonder where did you go?
The batcave? I am too old to remember
Seven times I wondered
And the machine is too old to be serviced
The rust shakes in the grass
And I climb to the top of the stairs
Where I can feel the wind on your forehead
The moon grows bigger or smaller
And I am too old to see very far

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