two women round the corner
they have nice asses
one pushes a stroller
they stand by the shore
and take snapshots of themselves
around another corner
the whir of electric wheelchairs
two boys their heads askew
their conversation is not unintelligible
they race each other and laugh
the sun is warm against this wall
the court is empty now
whirls of leaves are my companions
my constant companions
i speak the skittering language of leaves
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