The HI-C straw
wrapper between the dull
grass blades
reflects more than grey
light--fourth-grade
field trips or dips
into the golf course
bamboo patch
shimmer on the opposite
side of sweet hydration's
debris. It is sorry
that the memories
we cherish hide
behind panes
of scrap, that
we reach what seems real
only when we open
gates of ivory.
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