We never had that frank discussion,
about the birds and bees,
or how the storm of sixty-five,
made that tree,
fall and cut your bus in two.
Your face in monochrome,
etched upon my brain
with Miss Hozier's husband on a barge.
We lay upon the bed
and watched the clouds float by,
the altitude determining their velocity,
and talked about how cartoons work,
and the power of metonymy.
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