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the house had a wooden porch
with great glass windows
overlooking the hill.
the boy snuck a friend in
and with his hands,
he told him he
couldn’t stay long.
the boy’s parents were
awake in the kitchen
rocking their daughter to sleep
they looked at the two
as if they were strangers
from the calm wild,
from the bushel of trees
down the hill.
the father opened the fridge
and had the two drink
a glass of milk
said they were all leaving soon.
the road is like the sky
it just bends and kills and
welcomes whatever bones
pledge to cross it.