old love, on the cusp
of letting go of the rest of us
old laughter, hands in the cold
the taste of your tenderness
and the hurts tenfold
and I could lie beside your smile
for all of time and still be silent
and what do we do now
that we are grown
no more branches to brandish
no more rocks to be thrown
take our bats and our balls
and shake hands
and go home?

INVIA LE CORREZIONI