The shore is the first
or last in a series of doors
that finds you
after ten years of access road.
You park by the house of the girl
you have never really stopped imagining
naked since seventh grade
and walk straight
through your own story.
There are always small things
you have forgotten, and they collect
here, among the reeds.
Here we sit.
One day you will be old enough to remember
remembering, perhaps having lost
the bright collection of moments
that brought you here