Wednesday, April 07, 2004
in the simple flowering minutes
of youth
all that is fine is
but beauty
in a jar
every jar
every window
every swing
every moon
each one different
every dog
every friend
in the sandbox
where the wet tunnels grow
and collapse into
dust
giant piles
over the heads
of my brother's
g i joes
that we rescue
with a hose
pounding water.
that is all.
wood
has potential
every minute breathes with
huge life
mystery
i might find treasure
below the swingset
we did once
i think
i'll bury this twig
and hundreds of years later
someone else will
dig it up
and wonder
who i
was.
my homemade dress
was small
and i was
smaller.
i had a million dollar hug
that was small and
huge
and i would smile
touch my tongue to my
nose
and ask
can you do this?
the wind would lift my
dirt brown
hair
off my shoulders
and i would swing
close my eyes
and fly
dive into the sky and let my feet
hit the clouds
knocking them farther away
leaving me with
only regret
that i am no longer
small
but does it matter?
ah, the flowering innocence
of those simple minutes
of childhood
so small and
huge
nowhere man 4:33 PM
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