The skies bend 
their hammocks of rain.

Summer is a flag that unfurls slow and fast, 
just as uncertain as we are.

A parent wheels
a chair-bound child through the clinic doors.

He is already old, but at the same time 
painfully young.

The receptionist says, sign in
then ring the bell on the counter.

It resounds
like a gong in a closed space.

One by one we get up
as we are called.  

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