We learned to play and weave a game of shadows,
tank tops, tie-dyed rainbows and fence post birches
marching along the river bank. Secret lockets lost
in the untraceable spaces 'tween rocks and river;
woven with tales of Indians, haunted canoes
and flights of geese suddenly becoming maidens feathering oars.
This dance of magic footprints before we knew each other.
Pine cone blossoms, wisps of smoke 'bout black seed,
a frozen wafer of intangible lightness, we spilled
out of summer brown and otter races,
grew through the flickering fire lights, cricket cries
and lightning bug lanterns illuminating starry black candelabras.
We skied and snow-shoed back trails along wood and black berry tangles;
shadows and memories holding our laughter as we puffed smoke signals
into the crisp cold. Best friends, partners, we explored our landscapes
promised heroic outcomes and knew each others dreams.
Perhaps, it is the fault of the willows,
the privacy of falling hair and roots like arms,
the tangle of our shared memories and fruits ripening
before we had out grown our own long legged coltish romps,
kite races, and the sweat of hot summer days driving us
to dive, naked, into the black pond waters reflecting a white summer sun.
If she hadn't tickled my cheek with **** willow;
if I hadn't learned the taste of honey suckle on her lips,
the way they glistened when moist with laughter.
Innocence is best
savored as a memory.
Up Vote .
Follow me :)