I haven't been back to Wisconsin
since that first-love summer of 2001,
and the 15 years since has taught me about
heartbreak and how it can sometimes be good.
Near roman candle lakes, where dog bowls overflow,
selective time machines are broken in back pockets,
and I thank generations in my chest for the lessons;
maybe I should write this down in rain to remember.
And thus, move on once again (from same feeling),
smelling smells that once meant more,
still a stupid, young American kid still hiding
somewhere in the sleeves of my shirt.
When you are a virgin to that crushing moment
it seems like forever your dreams will be windows
into that time and place, that setting, that sun,
but it is a relief to keep living, always able to look back at the accidental fire.