Looking tired again, and that's not always loneliness or sad.
It's like student's eyelids before that stampede of letter-writing,
expectations and predictions and the old aching of not knowing
where your letters will send you. Holding onto a past,
a present you aren't sure you want, a pair of spectacles,
a lucky pencil, the blueprints to those important smiles.
It all comes down to the architecture of your face and
a dream you have that you know you can’t say aloud.
