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Click hereHis past
once formless,
now aglow
with shimmering insights.
He rolls featherlike
in the umbrella grass,
wind gathered
in the solid, metal L
of a fence line at dusk.
He slurps fresh rain
from the third porch step
of a sleepy old
bluestone named Halcyon.
He hides in dim spaces
to eat illicit ice cream
and burn the evidence.
He climbs to the top
of sunburnt hills,
searching for feral animals
in the crunch of summers grass.
Solitary
grubby
curious
The child blossoms from the man.