In the backwoods
of a world made of tunnels,
I dreamed us, but a long time ago.
Now I remember,
why all this recognition, now.

There was this cobweb of pine
forest, and hills, everything
the color of a fox in the mud.
In the secret tunnels 
of a house abandoned 
on a hill, like ragged roadkill, 
full of old junk from god knows when,
and a pale grey network over all of it, 
as if to clutch it with frantic ownership.
But thats not us; no, we are exploring
this haunted world with our flashlights,
I thought maybe, we are twelve?
We were the kids who ride bikes out
to places like that, with secret premonitions.

This is how it will be: in a secret world,
you and I will be the rebel army 
that overthrows vast empires, dust,
sadness, every hammer that bashes a head.
We have a secret mission, a secret war to wage,
and this ship to wage it from, you and I.

All my secret premonitions
are the glitter of where you stood 
in the second I saw you, really,
for the first time walking alive.





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