Season
The photograph of us floated away through the murky water while we were tire jumping into you grandfathers lake in late august. I found it washed up on shore that september. A fish had nibbled out our eyeballs. We were just blind. And grinning.
We were transparent,
Simple and see-through.
Brilliant and naive.
Swimming in a sea brimming with hope.
Your acorn beard scratching my fingertips.
Warning me of august.
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