We were talking about death
over the phone, speaking words into
a mouthpiece, listening to them
coming back into our ears.
I was looking out across the back yard,
taking in the curve of a tree
and the tall grasses dead in the swamp.
The light was early and golden.
You did not tell me, but I knew
that you could see — across the city
from sixty stories up — the lakes
and streets stretched out for miles.
I agree that whatever it is, it won't be
like this. I want to say I share your sense that
there will be someone there to meet us.
Yes, I suppose it's all we think about.
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