one that
runs along
the highland.
yellowed by winter.
the green
gone.
the old railroad
tracks.
the wind is fierce
as we push into it.
not far,
not too far
that we can't go back.
bordered
by brick, by sealed
windows.
by tenements not
yet
converted
into this century.
the barreled
water
towers.
the chain links.
the barbed wire.
graffiti.
it's all part of it as
we press on
with our own lives.
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