Winston-Salem: a Rose-Glassed Retrospective

in 25 days, again we make the leap.

two years ago on that day, some great hand slipped an extra one between,

an unreal city of time unclaimed, a daffodilday

which could never be anything but,

could only be repeated—in sunshine or in magic—

every four or so years.


I remember the day.

I remember the bouquet

of yellow ecstatic blossoms you picked and gave to me, or I gave to you,

but really it does not matter because we both knew

that, in truth, it was the day itself that gave them to the both of us.


we gave them something to talk about, He gave us something

to marvel at, for days and months and decades to come. I will not forget

the immensity of the questions, the vacant dark of the unknowing

terror of crouching there, at the ends of our known earth,

holding hands and whispering secrets through the concert

telling it honestly, finally and for once and for all

saying it all, as choirs of angels sang

and sent their prayers up, echoing into the dome, to meet our tear-streaked smiling faces


I said salut, printemps

never knowing that someday all too soon I would have

to say adieu


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