You are at home tonight on a far Westcoast with lemonade and tentative
buds calling for Spring
Here the rapid railcars will soon be
crossing, our windows busy with defrost
The year
will end chilly for us inland, southwest
as we idle in forgettable pauses
attempting to resurrect
promises we failed to keep in the passing
Next time I will hitch instead of drive
next time as
poems arrive in fitful dreams.
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