Vol 10, Num 14 :: 2011.07.22 — 2011.09.01
Your study legs sweep a path
Through the leaves —
Scattering amber, oak and
Gold every which way —
And you laugh ’til your small skeleton
Shakes.
Such spring and recoil in your steps
As you turn and run through again,
This repetition more glorious
Than the last!
As you face me again, I note
The fleece of your teeth and the gaps
Between —
A silly monstrous grin set between
Your cream cheeks and beneath
Your red lips singing,
“Play with me!”
Little child, you cannot spell
Your own name, but please, please,
Will you teach me?
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