The locusts pulsate and pulse and soundtrack this thick twilight --
Your long little legs skip - I didn't know you could skip - across the straw so confidently.
The other you, you with the serious look, I wonder if you'll have this in your memory when you're 38.
The locusts buzz in my younger ears too -- the farm, the lightning bugs, the gnarled apple tree --
To capture this moment - those moments - in words -- will they then last into all our twilights?
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