can you see yourself as a child
in some image of the past?
chequered picnic blankets by the
blue water
sand castles suspended under
younger faces
(in their excellency
these are perfect graces)
beyond reclamation but for
their fuzzy traces
did i miss something there?
what did i forget to do?
who am i
to raise this child's ghost?
am i still that little boy
beneath the elm and
mother's spreading smile?
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