Fire Exit
Half between
five
and
six,
I was on that same
old stairway, adoring
your air.
You were standing against kettle people.
You were waiting for the next rocket bus.
You were radio-free and mob-less, as usual.
Half between
six
and
seven,
I strummed my
frustrating romances,
adoring your air,
though you’ll be
far, always.
Ca. 2006
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