My green crushes; unimaginative,

dewily ambitious: The prettiest

girl my age in whichever capricious

grouping of twenty-five or so classmates

I found myself imprisoned with that year.

   Bedrock of elaborate fantasy:

   marooned somewhere, naked, piggy-back;

   but prudently draw only her, only

   face, in clumsy shorthand forged in my own

   keener self-study. Overlap occurred,

   of course: My eyes, her nose, my ears, her hair.

   These creations... aged strangely; so prescient

   in crude conflation of want and wanter.

   I’ve kept them all and need draw no longer.