This has been the place of infinite stories.
Serene, endless summer
Unchanging
And yet, so much has changed
Each time I’m here I’m reminded
Of how many places
I’ve been
Here alone—
Countless storms shooting stars
My eyes have seen
So many boys,
and then men
Whose hands I’ve known
It might be over
The making of memories here.
After this,
My last teenage year
It’s not that my growth is stunted, but
Rather
It seems this place is full
Topped off by its one final ghost
Which is everywhere’s final ghost
As if from now on
(from October on)
I will live
In memory only
My most treasured moments have often
been with friends—drunken
sweat-drenched
sing alongs or fits of pure laughter
I find magic
In your eyes
At sunset
As they mirror
The water
Or in the first sip of wine
on the balcony with my father
as we silently appreciate the beauty
and heat, and I feel self-actualized
adult,
real.
Or the magic
of a broken understanding as I cross
a language barrier
Even beyond all of this,
beyond revelry love family accomplishment
I want to find
Magic
in the beauty of being
Me.
Neil Young is having a poetry contest
One I would have entered
A year ago, when I felt
Full of love and yet fuller of
Sadness
A poetic sentiment—having all the best
Yet feeling
Deepest and
Hardest life’s
Surrounding tragedies
But now, how can I enter?
When this new love feels dishonest
And I haven’t heard a news report
Or felt personal tragedy
In months.
The deepest feelings now
Live within someone else
A cello’s slow tears or a man
Singing
Far away
About something real, no matter the distance
It seems to me
At this place, this university, that what
Each wants most desperately is
A human connection which will simply not
Show its face. So finally, I might
Give up on playing along
And return to what I used to know
I could count on; my own
Deepest feelings
Discovered by a pen
Sweeping paper
April 15th
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