i don't think
we're really experiencing the same thing
so much as doing our own thing(s)
within similar, although temporally-dislocated, constraints.
but i could be wrong.
maybe you'll write back and describe to me just how
all the lovely objects of crush
sit near to and yet oh so distantly from me
each grim winter afternoon.
how young the youngsters are.
the swirling of leaves and ash in a cold windblasted courtyard.
sodexho coffee.