Near Light
“In our leisure we reveal what kind of people we are.”
--Ovid
​
Remember climbing trees?
​
Hands sticky with pitch,
ripped jeans. Spine
curved into a crook.
​
Ignoring hurried calls for suppertime
from below,
forgetting the grief down there.
​
Soothed
by the tree’s embrace,
sugared sky, singing leaves.
Praying for wings.