Child Poetry

I look up from

the deviled facade

of myself,

A break

from the

f r o z e n

e r o s i o n

I

follow the eyes

of the ghost

in the dirty mirror.

I’m broken, bent, spent.

But you keep

coming back.

Do you pray

the petals

I drop?

o

n

e

two

three

Do you collect them

and make a bitter tea?

”Drink it up…”

I whisper:

What by this Night

should come

and say neglected?

“I did this to you?”

I ask my reflection.

All these years,

where did they go?

“Am I just time’s scapegoat?”

Sudden anger!

I punch down!

And I create

dark waves.

And you -

you rose as

child poetry;

perfectly breezed

and pure,

airy and silent -

you grow

as a garden

in my core

you guard

my dreams.

I close my eyes.

I must recall—

And now

I find myself

In that garden -

Reliving—

The day

we first met,

by this fountain

o f

y o u t h

h e r e

————

r e f l e c t e d

c l e a r