BREAKFASTING WITH SOPHOMORES

When I was what you are, the world

was every place I’d yet to go.

Nothing near, now, or here

meant more than something anywhere

tomorrow.

Today, the ratio’s reversed.

Back from anywhere, I watch

the Indiana earth I walked,

measure Indiana’s level weathers

and remember…

Where did twenty-five

Decembers go?

North of action,

east of indecision, south

of possibility, and west of hope,

I stare into the now and then

of all those years at once.

A sophomore who has my name jogs

by in ski boots and an army-surplus

jacket.

Netless tennis courts

turn populous with players only

I can recognize.

Oblivious,

the campus pines still celebrate

their rooted anniversaries.

A DC-7

seams the zenith with a chalkmark

wake, and clouds rush over

lake, dome, and stadium

like bursts of smoke from field

artillery…

No different in its bones,

no greener, not a foot more hilly,

Indiana’s real for the acknowledging.

I sit back, listening, observing,

memorizing everything.

Two decades’ worth

of meals and months and mileage

consecrates this minute.

Even

an eyelash swimming in my coffee

seems important.

When I was half

my age, I never would have seen it.

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