The unfinished plots we pedaled to,
Chasing the adolescent thrill
Of undiscovered paths
That ran through our suburban wood,
Called me to consciousness
As they were overrun
By the nostalgia of a young man\'s
First amnesia.
To attribute this tragedy to time,
Or the careless failures of a teenage mind:
A question that lengthens
The aching space
Between those undeveloped plots,
And these new homes;
The children within them,
And the child within me.