These? These are days.

i presented you as young
flailed limbs with small, soft
hands attatched waved in excitement
at something you had said

your tin-can wrists lingering in the silent air-
i presented you as wild and bird-like in your
thumb-tack poise,  as having never learned,
(or did you forget?) the blessedness of warmth-

I presented you as presenting yourself
and as i did I saw, just edgewise,
the timelines that circumscribe
your wax-paper and baker's-twine mouth.

i swept that smile off its feet and under the carpet
because it me recognized as time
that will not stop- and you
as always having kept yourself complete

but there is no such thing as a happy ending
I could tell you about the kitch and infinite beauty of the world
but nothing, not even a dolphin shirt, holds up to the real thing
because there's no such thing as an ending


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