In June --

these days, incessant, are

lapping at your shore, causing

tremors and

uplifting dirt as truth, we

shelter the mountain

in our minds, rocks sliding through

our fingers, these

shadows not ours for the keeping but

on loan from the earth -- a child

dances in the grass,

uninhibited, casting glances

toward all

horizons, feeling warmth

as love, the sun baked

days, the nighttime worries passing

through his arms as

he stretches for the heavens, sighing

quietly now he

sees his home

in the hills, trees

bending toward him, the world

his friend, tamed

and sure . . .

*