(Normally when I write poems I imagine created scenarios like “What if a speaker leaves her kidnapper for the moon,” or “What if a speaker roasts a stealthing girl for completely unpersonal reasons.” This poem totally, definitely is the same.)

PC:Google

Do you remember the last time we walked
Through our high school on the hill
After hours and empty?
It always felt like a dream
Shadows creeping acutely far
Never before seen by student eyes
But think, so many lived here,
Someone every day was wandering
Stray people like stray animals
We had roads, just for ourselves

Do you remember how we might meet,
Or run into the other
Outside dorms
We exchanged words, treats, as acquaintances
And I cupped my hands to take a world’s granted abundance

I remember that pitch tar night
Or that overlight room
When I coughed
Out the most pointless goodbye in the world.
If I returned, would I find it
All the same, wax stuck
I seem to have a knack, in eternally returning

Or, like the footprints
Are they all gone?