Boy In Leaves
Somewhere deep inside a boy still peeks out
green forests overflowing from his eyes
Is the flurry of years to blame
that I have forgotten him so often?
Find him, find him, the wind of years commands
before decades’ gusts shake branches bare of leaves
Was that he, rolling in the grass down a slope
feet dangling from a log, head in some forgotten cloud?
Urinating six inches past the mark in the sand?
He, rowing under fountain’s rain, little passenger raging with delight
he, smiting a ball, carving a catapult?
Blow wind blow, there he is, playing poker for farthings
each coin bullion, around a pizza crumbed table in student lodgings
Look wind, is that not he, eulogizing companion killed by ghastly
accident, pulling phrases of praise from a shivering notebook
Too soon he disappears, a fallen leaf blown
into a heap of brown days
And who can find in autumn’s rakings
if and when the wind may glimpse him once again
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© Johnmichael Simon