Sunday, July 6, 2008

My Father's Farm My Mother's Creek

not yet
aware of the limit
of frame and height, place and heaven,
busy with the business of a preface,
or the exposition of a boy,
the storing up of wonder.

and blades of green as high as eyes,
hips of hill and the mystery darkness
given by the stone's cradle of traveling
and who lives there?
I will spend my saturday
not aware of reasons why
or a life without streams,
collecting citizens for my
Where mounds of green become perfect shires of Spring
and choking brooks become the mighty moat.
The walls of youth that will leave me
with the hope of Heaven,
and a second boyhood,
the storing up of wonder.

May '08

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