Perhaps Eternity is one late sweet
encapsulating August afternoon wherein your creatures pile around you
in the room – affectionate, preoccupied –
attending to the slap of skateboards
whapping concrete in the park across
the street, the muted shout of rowdy
sixteen-year-old boys igniting impulse
into warm hormonal war, while soft
cross-ventilating breezes toss, commune
through windows in your darkening
East Village flat. Perhaps Eternity is that.
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