elegy (for Michele 1972

in the northeast corner of the city, near the railroad tracks, a simple kick of an empty coffee can rang out in my darkness, daring someone to find me sometimes we sat in dirt drawing tomorrow, rarely speaking of yesterday’s skinned knee. or potatoes i was in love with the blonde often we dangled legs from the train overpass, passing engines iron dragons smoking of diesel, acrid in our noses. it was enough we walked split rails, held hands defied gravity with balance kissed only once in thick shadows of dry elm trees dutch elm took the trees as quickly as junior high lunch periods. as Michele what calling of my childhood dares to raise its voice to the grave of a single leaf?

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