boyhood

often i’m off to thinking
of a boy running through
a forest by a brook searching
for good, flat skipping stones
or the best pieces of worn glass maybe
even poisonous snakes

i see the boy tripping over
the upheaved root of an ancient tree – too
big for climbing and skinning
his hands
all pink and burning

and sometimes i see the boy discover
the root goes to the tree

i watch
his eyes imagine
the tree from underneath and see
his heart fill with schemes so much better than wagon races

of underground mazes
and digging to china through his sandbox