for Leonard Cirino
- when we’re older, you’ll see.
- when we’re older
- we’ll sit on hard, wooden benches,
- bearing our weight on our hands,
- our feet stretched out beyond our eyes.
- we’ll look into the distance and the wind will whistle through the valleys,
- through the outline of the mountains we make with our legs.
- our groins will grow cold.
- your eye will catch mine.
- a laugh will escape us,
- whisper through the stumps of teeth broken in our mouths
- like trees.