To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern
by Noah Gordon
I loved the lagoon by the bay
where teams of boatmen,
two or three strong,
would scurry across the surface of the water
like impatient dragonflies.
I want to go back
and be there with you.
I can hardly remember
the way you looked that night
when you drunkenly came to my room,
asking to stay the night.
In the morning
I walked you to the bus,
and paid your fare.
Ten years from now
I hope I’ll have forgotten you.
Ten million years from now
none of this will have meant much.
To whom it may concern,
I miss you,
and the bottled up talk
of death
and time
and rain,
falling flatly on the town
outside our windows.

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