A stream exists where all our dreams
Come true.
And even if the current trickles
Sometimes –
The river we are fishing in
Flows on…

Load up the last of all the absolute
In the trunk of the autonomous sedan
We have leased
To carry 18 years of overwhelming love
Too far away.
For certain there are hats and coats
=At least- enough
To clothe a freshman/woman
For one year.

1n 2017, before the virus made us
Virtually think
In terms of things remote or far
When we were near,
We thought to put a little bit away
For rain, of course,
But more to have a treasure trove
To grow for real
In case the world would turn for worse
And make it
Typical to un-matriculate.

And so it’s come to this. Today,
We’ll leave our child in a foreign state
Convinced that this contrived and sacred
Rite of passage matters in some way.
As if her independence wasn’t cast
Or forged in some past reverie
Her parents had in late 2009 — give or take –
A year, a dream, a wish — a thousand days.
The pdf was scanned and tucked away
In digital mass storage in the cloud –
A promissory note signed many days
Before the incantation made its way
Into the myth-i-verse we never name,
But where we let delusions stretch and grow
Until they metamorphize into Then.



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For Better or Verse — Poetry Month 2022 et al.

Philip J. Repko, Ian C. Repko, and Philip E. Repko have been fiddling with words for more than a few years. Here we shall periodically contribute.