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By the leaping dance of lake water
we wrote our future in the air.
Silence doesn’t show itself in a vacuum;
it must be fashioned & embraced.
We built this stillness, sitting before
a peeled crimson porch, trees dressed
in bark brown & mint green, a fish carried
up & under, torn open from within. I wondered then
if you knew or cared, as you sat in a wheelchair
& brace, that I spent last night with your best friend;
as if the pain of injury was death enough at age 18.
Jonathan Rowe ’18