trips not taken in hospital gowns
His face is clear, unwrinkled.
Twenty-two always seemed young.
He’d planned trips to Europe. Wanted
to drive to Saturn,
to take a Hubble selfie, but
the engine sputtered
in shattered youth.
He clogged his sink this year
with white blood cells and brown hair.
His shiny passport dissolved with him
into moonlight craters,
into crepe paper stars,
too fragile to move,
too far to touch.
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