my head the tinkling remembrances of sparkling suns
and innocence , of Silver Lake , and stepping
on a Blue Racer as I ran back up to the cabin,
shocking, yet part of the days, nights, things,
all the rowboats the roped off float swimming area,
being attacked by a snapping turtle,
the small nest up the hill of trees
where mom discovered the
nest of tiny rattlesnakes, bad dreams I had one night
listening to the radio and the stories of a big hairy creature ,
surviving it, getting stronger, no longer a tiny
creature of the concrete subdivision,
where trees were rare and creatures were real,
the bus route down at the corner.
April was , there.