sitting under a japanese maple
we look at the blue
            temporary sky
and i want to name it
for you. all winter
we’ve battled what
gutters and unravels
      the dependable afternoon
      of meaning to be other people
than we are as our better selves
give way to the real ones.
so listen, we are this life
only once. sweet fruit
of this beautiful
dump i watch
you climb
out of.

Tom Mattson teaches writing in NY and lives with his wife and two children. His work has appeared in Palindromes, Xanadu, and Long Island Poets Annual Review.

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