Puddles. Stomping
grounds for rubber
boots or church-shined
shoes. Grounds
for oodles of delight
to smile in a flash
of white and a clash of flesh
off which impulses leap
and land in squeals
and a splash. Innocence
grounded in
grins and in screams
unleashed, as wiggles,
giggles, and tickles smash
and alight. Children
into puddles, like moths
to a light, ripple delicious
igniting like sparkles.
As if skyrocketing
souls up into the bright
rainbow hue of puddles,
childhood shimmers out of view.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
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