To run to the far side of the pasture
Is to stop one’s own heart
Quick
Like the flash of a lightning bug
Little ones’ feet wander
As do their minds
Away from tales of fairies
And white gods
To big oak trees
On the far side of the pasture

Grass claws at his face
As his knees bend to the rhythm of his feet
And tiny black fists keep time
***** of mallets striking marimba air
“Don't let mama catch you”
Bounces against the walls of his cranium
Crash-
Into the oak tree
“Ouch”