the speech at the end

sugar sweet, lost on abysmal causes

rotten teeth, the procession begins.

like birds in angsty wind we grew,

tethered by deep forces but free on the surface,

clipped from beneath and never ahead.

i hope to see you around,

keep in touch the way shy people do-

feathery glances and freshwater waves.

if it wasn’t perfect,

i’m glad it was a joint flight,

that the salt stung each of our eyes

and willed us to go on through tears.

i’m the lucky one,

who gets to tell the tale

through peach juice and summer air,

the toss of caps and one last look,

on how we did it,

on why we lived.