I would show you the adolescent Canada geese
on the pond. Better behaved than we ever would
have been, they stay close, like Catholic school girls
in prim uniforms between their parents in church.
We would give them names like Cecelia and Mary
Margaret and Bridget, us standing by the donkey,
scratching his ears and thinking the other was smart
and beautiful and funny, without recognizing our
similarity. Then, I’m walking your memory back home
from the far side of one day and you’re walking mine
back from the next. So unwilling to part that we try
to make peace with the constant wanting of ordinary
time, by holding the other’s voice in our ears along
with a small ache; the price paid for the utter luxury
of a friend who shares the same moon, sunrise or
twilight, while caring for horses who will never meet.
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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