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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

School Reunion

People move in throngs
on the terraces of this rich house,
perched above a calcareous cliff.
A stream moves a hundred feet below,
a vein from the torn muscle of the land.
Across the ravine
threads of time show in the rocks,
sediments stacked like cards,
and we ephemeral creatures
admire the scene,
oblivious to the shortness of life.
Schoolmates nursing old affairs,
unfinished rivalries.

I drink beer,
a senior disaster.
The women’s voices are pitched high,
the men have scars around their eyes,
the great dream is coming to an end.
The fall of too many stars.
The house will eventually
be a ruin itself.
The stream will cut deeper
in the divide.
The laughter of an evening
will disappear in the wind.

Years will pass,
and the children,
if they’re here,
will hold their reunions,
gossip and news unrecorded.
Will our dreams come back?
I listen to the talk,
there are doors closing,
night ascends with a great moon.
Summer comes through my clothes
warm and comfortable.

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