I lost my marbles*
he cried, lingering
at the garden gate
hands in his pockets - what
a terrible thing to lose. I miss
him desperately from ten feet away. I wish
I could pluck star after star
and crush each between my fingertips
like a grape, dripping starlight
for him to lick
and shine behind his glazing eyes
and press the skins
into gems
for him to flick
with nimble wrist
like he did in our childhood
by the garden gate, where
we first met.