The poem is no longer a part of the book I own. I ripped it out, had it framed, and nailed it to the wall right next to the door in our master bedroom.
Summer works like this. Every day small moments cycle like waves within tides, eroding our opportunities on a geological scale invisible from our point of immersion.
I recognize something in the stories... It’s the culture of “I made it” versus the culture of staying behind, the culture of achievement versus the culture of guilt.