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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Contest >> ID #728108 |
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Halfway there, adventure knocks and she says: "let’s just go to New York"…as if Manhattan weren’t three hours farther away than the horse-pulled haunted hayride. I nod; we laugh aloud at time.
Reverse direction as one and without question; we’re of the same mind. Halfway there, she plots a map for us to journey over Europe, switching into talk of shoulder season and cheap fares to Amsterdam. Within a week we’re booked to fly in May. Once there, we rent a car and buy a map and spin ourselves around. Somewhere in Holland… Carving love on park benches; planning Vienna. Halfway there, she sparks ideas for she alone which spread unhurriedly toward preparation. After obtaining a permit, she learns exactly everything she needs to know about the art. I dream that she says: let’s just go… Sanctuary hill beside the Buddhist temple holds her final steps. Halfway there, she pauses for a moment in her passage, hefting metal hand-to-hand. She speaks to oak trees, familiarizing herself with life devoid of future. Last of all are echoes of our travels, severed sharp by the report of a rifle.
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