No one said just how long

We hadn’t spoke. But we attempted

Something like speaking

At the summer music festival.

I stood by you at the base

Of the stage. Our hands, green

Leaves, our bodies, skin-salted

Stalks, mid-sway. We were tagged

With broad yellow wristbands. 

What happened 

back then? I want to ask you.

But even now you look forgotten

Like this crowd: tattooed and red,

It waits for the next song to begin.

As always, you are looking

For a place to softly fall

Onto the ground, waiting

For the hottest of days

To leave you shivering.