We know things when we are sixteen.
By the way the apple stem falls who we will marry,
our favorite band will be together forever,
the tattoo we get the day we turn eighteen,
we will never throw away
the other half of this friendship bracelet.
Sure footed mountain goats, we never look down.
When we are twenty two we know the truth,
people come and go,
and some people stay
in the end we know more
or as much at twenty two
as we did at sixteen.
I’m not revealing to you
some unknown truth,
no janitor in mask,
no man behind the curtain.
The sands shift
we still have sand-dunes
and grit in our shoes.
Swear on your favorite character.
No, swear on your poetry.
In the end we are just words.