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August 24, 2007
I am in Arkansas,
and the light sifted
through flaxen hair
is suffusive here.

It's so strange
--we haven't seen one
another for so long--
her face has aged,
but the thin fabric
of her shirt still rustles
around her like it did
when we were still kids.

We are in the parking lot
of a strip mall or gas station,
and she is looking down at me.

We haven't spoken all this time,
and it is clear that
life has aged her
--not time--
so when she asks if I'll marry her,
my heart creaks like a barn door.