The Overgrown War
And the buildings missed it as well, the overgrown war, the war
we couldn’t find
no matter how we looked.  We’re missing it again
as we speak.
 
“Do you hear that,” we say back and forth,
as it begins to sing, thinking maybe
that’ll help us find it.
 
Later, questions begin.  Which war is best for crossing,
and which for crossing back?  This,
the crossing-back war, is directed at time.  We say this
mostly to make ourselves feel better.
 
And maybe they’ll find it,
and maybe I’m not there on that day.  Maybe I’m off
fitting myself into this other war
I’m trying to find, and lying about the future,
the way that doesn’t seem to matter,
as the lie doesn’t usually end up any more wrong
than the truth anyway.
 
“After the bit about the leaves turning,
we will fall on top of each other,” they call out
from the loudspeakers.  And we know
we’ve left the war half done, wherever it is.
 
“First you’re there,
and then you’re older,” we paint on the signs,
and then on the other signs across the road
it’s, “We laid there for a while
pretending we were dreaming.”
 
Much as if that’s exactly what we want to be looking for
right now, so that everyone will feel welcome.
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