in Eugene feet thru high
grass already going
yellow even though Autumn
is months away
abandoned field rumored
once to be hippie commune floppy
frisbee slits thru still
air Elizabeth’s arm reaches
ever upward Tamara
with a bag of books college
blues on weekday afternoon
how many days of rain
did we wait out
the sun a few sun-
flowers stranded
here & there our final
summer unknown
to any of us a season
later as pumpkins were carved
imagination remade by sewing
needle’s rhythm a bus back
to Philly broken-
hearted listening
to some mopey Sunday’s
song on repeat Utah
one stunning plateau
after the next road
stretching further emptiness
the boy next
to me from Alaska
living out his cracked
Kerouac visions how many
versions of ourselves enter
& exit periphery hacky sacks
hippies given way to hip
hop & graffiti bottom
of my jean pocket
lint of what
was left behind
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