Once, we thought about meadows;
Brushing hands so gently above the tips of the grass.
One might have been offended by the trespass.
Then again, they did not know.

And once we thought about the future:
The stream of light echoing through the cracks.
We did not think of obstacles,
Or circuits, at all.

Too early the years came.
When that excitement became fright.
Those lights dimmed down, low.
The obstacles became barriers.

And at once it rushed through me.
I have to kneel to see it the same way.
We are unable to stand still.
The cracks were closed in.