We hadn't been to the garden in weeks and discovered a jungle where only sprouts had been late one summer evening.
Children at twilight,
in the garden,
on safari,
lurking in the weeds.
Plants are up,
water's down,
a month ago,
just a seeds.
Tomato Treasure Hunt-
over a hundred
in our bucket.
Baby adds some stones.
Darkness settles,
those with decorum,
would be speaking
in hushed tones.
Tools are discovered,
in an unlocked shed,
guarded by a brown recluse.
Weapons
are handed out-
now they're on the loose!
Boys get shovels
and they dig,
a hole in middle of the path.
At a word ,
it's filled back up-
fearing someones'
wrath.
It's late
I'm tan-or is it dirt?
"You'll have to come back
to finish your work."
"It's time to put on make-up"
(a little boy's quote),
as mud goes up-
from toes to throat.
A train sped past,
8 minutes since
the shudder and the blast.
We know because
they filmed it,
filmed it to the last.
I hear tinkeling-
child-laughter-sounds,
like echoes, where I'm at.
Hide-and-seek is happening,
while
I am deep within
the plant.
I can't help it-
It gets blurry.
Is it now-
Or is it then?
am I ten or-
am I thirty?
It's all so slow-
then-sudd-en.
I hear childhood...
I smell green...
I taste red...
I feel I've been.
