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Piercing the heart of the Windy City
at sixty-five miles per hour
aiming for midnight
with every arrow in my quiver
and all the windows down

something about this nocturnal wind
rushes at me with memories I never had
like a touch that never made it to skin
only imagined
but desperately missed

here, blowing through my hair
an unremembered dream
awakening at light’s tapered end
there, stinging my eyes with smoke
a heart that asked to be broken
if as a price for a pleasure
I never tried to understand

here, a handful of years
like a flood-prone interstate
and a network of roads
where accidents are commonplace

there, all the times I heard
the phrase “too young, too young”
they usually said it twice
like a votive incantation
a short code for primitive spirits
one for awe
and another for judgement

and then this one breeze
brushing against the bared shoulder
of the road close to home
tasted like the mess
of a forgotten bed
in a convoluted night
tormented by the impossible forbidden
that marked me for life

I am no longer marked
this is another life
I’m living
titanium and luminous and
consorting with raging winds

“Night at Moscow” by photographer Alex Pedan


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