The Day That You Forget

The day that you forget a toy,
You cannot know what you’ve just learned.
For much that is little is everything:
Still toys get tossed, and pages — turned.

It’s under neglect that the rust sets in,
As the elements batter what’s already strained;
I find an old truck on the edge of the yard,
And suddenly, I feel the knowledge gained:

To know what it means to be left all alone,
When the playtime is done and your purpose is served;
To know that you did what is now done to you,
And that these surroundings are what

You deserved

that time loved

the day we moved, and you outside —
the sun you drank in as it left,
and everything: a groom, a bride —

but time, it steals. and with each theft
the missing adumbrates the soul,
then darker times: awash, bereft —

but that time loved: alive and whole,
you sat out in the fading light,
and nothing was about control,

just resting on the breeze, a kite —
there floating


let this night

let this night
be for you a pillow
you can always rest your head on
when weariness overcomes you.

let this night, this hour,
remind you that beauty is real,
and that you’ve seen it, and felt it.

let this night, this hour, this moment
tell you that someone loved you with the power
of a pure Parisian sunset,
and that someone always will


Traveling Fair

At twelve, she’s off to see the traveling fair,
With three friends and a little bit of cash.
Just hours by themselves, no parents there,
They ride, and laugh, and parcel out their stash,

And enjoy being friends, and being girls.
It’s simple, really, but incredible
When you first get to choose, to really choose,
And while some food was — well, regrettable,

The whole thing was as perfect as days get:
How we grew up before

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