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1980 | 2020



I knew. Dammit, I knew.
Just thirteen, and I knew.
I couldn't be sure then, everything suggested I was wrong,
that more would come and it would sink—
but now I'm certain.  Forty years have come and gone,
have shown that I was right all along.

To peak so young and then live on,
to have a dream of life disperse,
to become a broken hive sheltering bees,
to become a narrow canyon
containing a few forgotten trees—
I won't look back, I can't look down,
what's done is gone,
what's yet is black.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.