No Sense of Time to Dwell On

Watching my feet come up as I
fly through the air, I notice the playful
squeals in the background blur and it's

just you and me in our dirty soccer
uniforms with muddy cleats and scraped
knees and your father is

clapping for you with lessons for
you on how to fly higher and lessons
for me on how to be a kid for a while so

I own the wind as I pump until the world
is reduced to one box of tanbark, untied
shoelaces and no sense of time to dwell on.


(org. 11/23/05 rev. 2/11/09)