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framed in the narrow backward glass
wearing that same mournful look
you've made since we were boys,
shame faced eating cookies
in the still house after lights out
the sweetness coats our mouths
long after punishment puts us in seperate beds.
You are the anchor, firmly tied
to slowly fading grace,
slowly fraying, slipping
worn by age's yellow tooth.
We've unraveled now,
only a few miles left to span
before the inevitable breach
and I'll reverse, retrace
painfully more mature
for your escape from your place
in my rearview.
Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.