As kids we'd play
beneath a summer sun
that turned
the pitch
between slabs of laid concrete
on minor suburban roads
into soft globs
malleable enough
to scoop out and
use as makeshift glue
to adhere icepop sticks
end to end
in triangles and squares.
These we'd toss to one another
in absence of Frisby or paint *** lids.
There were less cars those days
and none complained
to a bedraggled clump of kids
***** ***** but up to innocent clean mischievous play.
Digging up parts of the road we'd all eventually leave by.

Wander my thoughts to a mountain stream
so crisp and pure its whisperings
are prayers
and dappled flecks of light
glisten the ripples to glinting eyes
blinking bright.
gazing down
my wandering
floats me upon a travelling
leaf fleeing its tree
to experience life at sea
and I with my bond of fantasy
steer the vessel through tributaries union and confluence widening
into river's run
traversing bends and rapid rush
then lull before the gaping swell
of oceans welcoming gulp.
and swallowed
my wandering cast me free
while the leaf continues out to sea
on wave and surf's gallop
to return to watery core
where mermaids dream of dry land's shore.
There the Queen of them all
found a treasure so pure
a small leaf forever in a her crown she wore.

Her side of the bed's
warm as a hug
she just left for work
closing the door like a book
I'll later pick up
and lose myself in
in the pages of her return.
For our lives are written
one little word at a time,
line by line,
chapter after chapter.

Beneath the overhang of tension
we hesitate,
wait
for words to settle,
be withdrawn,
or apologies offered.
Curses spoken in haste provoke an impulsive, immediate reaction,
an equal cutting response.
We've lived and suffered the consequences before.
Allowed actions as instinctive as lust to run raw.
And we've been subjected to it's prideful display.
Guilty as a drunk's song waking dogs in the wee hours
and as certain as sure
we were right
all along.