At Best You’re A Hermit

Since we met, I’ve found you out as a hermit,/ in a marching army that breaks /at dawn’s early light./ You live on a rough deck/where you issue your ordinances/reading all you can/ in a dead letter office./The lamplight flares,/ for all the wrong reasons,/ in a world of the unwanted/caress without heat/I the emptiness of arms/ in a checked gingham dress/the fixed frown bursts open with the rarest of smiles. We paused on the corner /with red and green arrows /we crossed over to parkland/full with deep crevice/ we stretched out our frames in the lushness contained./In the light of suspicion,/ you tell me of things /I knew beforehand and I don’t wonder./ Young saplings sprout at the side: rising strong in a few years/inches from the trail/immense soon enough /by neutral design. /You are a hermit. You’ve seen your fair share of trees/ know much more,/but refuse obey the signs/walk the trail independent/since you know the length/ by the familiar tread of your feet. Rapt in collections; /easy wares and tin cans/they come first before you met me./ You will make time in stages, as a hermit. It’s easy to see.

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