This is the green we grew up in: humid blue of the blur of our adolescence;
weedy dark. These are the roads we drove into the country with whomever had
sweet, cheap wine. This is the sky of watery silk under which we wrecked our
hearts, cried out; the song of gnat and firefly and wasp and dove and frog.
Here is the place I chose exile from, sharp-hearted, sure of some other
world. And still, how it takes me back. How you grip the wheel and laugh,
don’t say Remember. Don’t say anything.