When Summer, that great seducer, beckons you into your own unfolding, each of it’s fire-kissed and tender breaths melting off stress/tension/clothes…. succumb.
When babes, in states of undress, frolick in
grass/surf/sand with roly-polys/ladybugs/sandcrabs
in hand… allow.
Oh, my little ones, fall into these mother’s arms. Tears and childhood
have erupted upon your face.
You are a salt-crusted mountain. You taste like fireflies. You smell like
These days are ours.
Let us be free, and
Let us sit, and call the stars
(They were yours before you were mine.)