That we sing in the sunshine
with the raindrops splattering
upon outstretched fingers

Our old song’s
been a longtime rising up
reclaiming all the beasties,
rekindling all the kindhearts

When the laughing willow
bent and shook by a dark creek
where the red-frame dirt bikes
disappeared and little boys
pedalled with self-import

Our old song’s
winding down but not giving up
when the children come up to
our knees and think it means
we must be grown-ups.

Now the child stands up inside.
Strafes the water with a fistful
of pebbles that plunk up
scattered droplets, calling
for eternity, screaming to stay
but falling away at the peak

Now the child stands up inside
and I don’t know where to stand.