Scraggle haired, red-cheeked, grass stained
things, running with wild flowers in hand
and mud underfoot, shouting and stomping
and grinning, sunshine sliding through
let-down curls, all missing teeth and
ankles showing beneath cuffs;
who sprawl crazily on park benches, on
dirt, on chalk-ruined cement, faces
upturned to taste the rain,
who drop everything to watch an airplane's
ascent, a scarlet fire truck, the
scrambled flight of migrating geese,
who seize mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles
around the waist and hang on for
dear life, squeezing with affection
almost too ferocious to bear,
who wail at the butterfly smashed
on the pavement,
who scatter like autumn leaves when
told to come inside, darting into
the shadows, teeth glinting wolfishly,
scampering into the boughs of trees
to hide with bated breath,
who ****** their hands out of car
windows to tickle the wind,
who choke on laughter all day and
dream of dragons and stardust
all night,
who want the answer to every
question,
who are the embodiment of wild sunsets
and turbulent skies,
who haven't yet inherited the rust
of adulthood,
who chase pigeons in the park,
flower chains slung haphazardly
round small necks in the
slanting rays,
who dance on the sidewalk to songs
that exist only in their minds, arms
flailing, heads bouncing, indifferent
to passers-by,
who walk the earth with wide eyes
and bursting hearts,
whose love could power a stellar
explosion;
Scab-kneed, angel headed, sun-burned
beings, flushed and bare legged, tearing
across fields of dandelions with
mad smiles and outstretched arms:
a band of the best and
brightest creatures
