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Poem: Orange Sky Road 

Orange Sky Road

Late spring, mud season
We were young
Back then, still in college—
Men on the cusp of becoming men.

Was it you, Paul, oldest of the bunch
Who drove your car down that country road
As we sat on the roof
Laughing, smoking, calling out
Potholes, boulders—

And who was it that pointed out the sun
Was setting, and the sky
Had become wild with color?

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