Big stone
marker in the grass
points the way to
D.C.,
points the way to
shipping freights,
points the way to
different paths.
You stop at the last bench,
in a mossy nook
outside the science building,
to write this.
Because the marker
brings him to mind,
but the quiet cove
and the green cave
and the physics posters in the window
bring him to heart.
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