If today should run away like Brigadoon and recede into a mist as
profound as the herald angel’s cry, I
will still remember that we laughed.
If this moment should fade like six month old jeans into a pale
remnant of what we bought, I
will still remember that we told the truth.
I will remember that we ran, measuring each breath with each
stride, comparing sweat and speed. I
will remember how our voices forgot to be unique and
bent themselves to an indiscernible melody together.
I will remember (how could I forget?) how June in Georgia rained
torrents of wet on our soaked, laughing heads, as we screamed,
free at last to do what we never would have dared to do otherwise.