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About This Poem
Waiting for the world to end
If you look backwards in time
you might see us
It was August
too many summers ago to recall
long after midnight
my brother and I
slipping through the valley of sleep
crawling out the window
onto the roof of the old sun-porch
drinking in excitement of the fresh night air
sprawled on a coarse gravel bed
searching the starry night
and watching for the first time
as the sky fell apart
then waiting for the world to end
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