the fossil record

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                    #5

In deference to the now greygreen

We are heartened by the cemetery 

of boots: haphazard, accurate, the 

lowering sky enforcing our decision 

and exit. I would like to be here 

only evenings all summer long. 

Retreat, even if only in thought, 

is a gift, the pier no longer an end. 

In savage reciprocity, the sound 

of boots on gravel. The darkening 

sky has become a fetish.

                                         —Todd Young