ARRvol34 master reduced - Flipbook - Page 73
Maybe that café we stopped at with all the middle-aged
men in skin-tight riding shorts will still be in business
and we can share a latte
The road should still be open
We could find the campsite we hiked up to, where
we got busted for smoking weed by that park ranger
the night you left your underwear in my tent that I found weeks later
and pulled out whenever I missed you
Do you miss the way our bodies used to linger
in the back of each other’s throats before our shirts
were laced with sweat
and stained with so much uncertainty?
I miss the shapes oak leaves make playing in the shadows
the way you miss the roll of rain
silently
I miss the wild June mangoes on Cerro Ancon
Even had I taken the time to pick them
enough would have fallen for
the agutis to gorge themselves on
while summer passed into fall passing
just like winter will begin passing regardless of
whether or not we pass along some stretch of highway,
which curves with the earth’s famines and bounties
We possess a talent which we don’t share with the seasons
the power to return at any moment
to the comfort of certain destitution to turn around
without enough gas to get us back
to anywhere worth dying
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