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For a Man on his Birthday

To a kid  the year is 730 days long. A week takes a month to walk. The afternoon crawls like a worm across a cyan lawn. There is no beginning or end. He falls asleep in April, wakes in January. Sentences could ramble forever.  He rides time to another century of mind. He is a cloud passing over a landscape of years. Looking down and back, it seems inconceivable.