Happy children are all-stars, curious jugs of sunshine, their faces radiant,
their eyes metaphors of emptiness and fullness perfectly contained, their naïveté keeps us entertained,
they don’t think about anything too long, peanut butter keeps them energized, they have happy feet, elastic faces,
like acrobats they ride bareback on wild stallions with wings, they train smarter, not harder, slow and steady gets them there,
they balance fun with rest, and they lie on their backs and take pleasure in moments of nothingness.
I sometimes imagine us like we use to be, together holding hands, kissing, fighting, just being,
I reach for you too late, my nails biting into my flesh, I clutch nothing, just bloody me,
never in reality, would I ever imagine you not with me, have I seen you everywhere watching me, watching you,
I see you giving me a stoic farewell salute, in clouds rolling over and over, then disjoining and vaporizing,
in my afternoon Coke, tiny air bubbles fondle and nuzzle, as if us, then the ice cubes dissolve, my future crystalline clear.
As if over-ripe 40 year-old grapes on a vine, sorely waiting to be plucked, aged curves and sun-toned appeal,
not soured by time but improved like wine, hot days and long nights, wanton juices burst, in love at last,
I am free, until,
bright neon lights, fears and scars illuminated inexplicable pain, a new seedling in a new time,
and captured in her tiny face is love, whose heart in a few years will be ripe for the plucking.