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Rich Furman
A magic revisited
I vaulted ancient boulders,
flew with winged feet over
the steps of forgotten ruins,
and thought myself a god;
that I might live forever,
with those I most loved,
casting long shadows deep into
the next millennium as well.
I looked down upon Athens,
the sky a dingy and yellow noose,
suffocating the dreams of a boy.
As my parents patience faded,
as the sun pushed us back,
the magic a rusting old car
sold for scrap far too soon.
But tonight, as a revisited pounding,
echoes of keys across
the crumbling Acropolis floor.
August 10, 1992
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