2.
We backed into the lake. Noon, kids, drunk with seeming.
And here we are again, alphabet at the top of the blackboard,
a broken clock too high to erase. Primroses, evensong.
The dubious empire of being awake.
A man was yelling across the street: haven’t you learned to build yet?
You’re so far away. I do little things. I build and build who knows what.
What are we always building? But you’re coming.
I build. You’re coming. You’re always coming.
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