Something that Shimmers

We flickered (for all our different angles we claimed to hold the same luster)

as nebulous lightning bugs or as a blanket of far-distant embers would.

 

We hadn’t grouped off then, freshman year (those melinna ago)

yet our roving bodies of backpacks and school books

found each other (a fusion all our own), and

 

we attempted to remain close as semester and

season slid us, slid us into further expansion,

but we kept missing each other’s calls

or texts or jokes about the future,

and by the end we wereI was

looking up at all those scraps;

graduation was a supernova

of tassels flying golden:

separate universes.

 

From here

there are years

of light (and dark)

and opinion and perception

between usfar away, we seem close.

We seem like we’re holding hands or arms

or throats or legs, gasping, blinding, blazing to each

other about firsts (acceptance letter, diploma, goodbye).

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