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I met you
on abandoned roads
where no one goes but friends of mine
are keeping up pretenses
for how it used to be –
swore to never say your name
but when choices came
I called you up
once or twice wondering
how you managed
just to be
the sweetest of a time
forgotten now

I met you
eastbound and northern
on trains that never touched –
but passed within a shimmer
of yellow paper dreams
on rails that sighed in my voice
stretched beneath
and miles beyond
ten thousand giant cedars
wing’ed ones –
remembered us to

I met you
on the coming back –
a story for repeating
you said you knew me
you knew me how
held as one an august night
as gentle rains
descending –
morning broke
in dust and smoke
its creamy winter skies

. . .