You always were the first: born before me
(three years, seven months and sixteen days).
You got a head start
and kept on running.
It wasn't fair that I could never catch
this stolen march.
You were the first in every game,
the leader of our pack of two.
Early morning expeditions:
out the casement window, down the drainpipe to the grass
(our feet trailed silver patterns in the damp).
Viburnum framed our little world,
the woods beyond were dark and deep.
You leapt the brook - a single jump;
I liked to feel the velvet moss between my toes.
You waited 'til I'd cleared the trees
then we could run together -
splendid in our isolation.
Sea at our feet, wind at our backs,
it felt like we were flying,
crying with the gulls.
It felt like we could live forever.
Why have you gone where I cannot follow?
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