by Gwen Healy '19
Rotting white picket fences breeze by in a blur,
but coming to a halt, the drained town park emerges from the murky darkness,
drowning in a coral fog. Vacant and neglected,
a desolate swing set stands obscured by the misty veil.
Together we stroll past and up the hill; as the sky’s sanguine fades to sangria,
the unbounded willow tree materializes at the crest.
Our sanctuary in sight, we race now, to the peak.
Weaving through the labyrinth of dangling branches,
our hands fall upon the tree’s deceptively large trunk in a single, swift moment.
Nearly indigo, we notice our time wearing thin,
and there we lay beneath the branches, waiting.
In what seems to be a single blink, the fresh, crisp miasma seems to dissolve,
Leaving us investigating the starry night sky, for where our minds wish to wander.
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