I wish to belong one again
to that place of security and wonder
where all that mattered
was whether a mole had dug itself back home or not
and one concerned herself with the well-being of
what-some-call-weeds,
the unlikely flowers of whom would be at risk
of getting trampled at the park.
Legs part as they rise from a trampoline.
And the milky sweetness of plain ice-cream
pales the color of little lips.
I could have thought that every child I met
with her large eyes and delicate whisper
was a fairy,
Who knew how to play in the woods
Who knew how to make large of the world of everyday.
