In Memory of

When I am seven years old
I will wake to see the sun on my bedroom door
Informing me that my morning will involve
Tramping around the yard in search of props
For my imaginary adventure

There will be shady alcoves between the rows
Of bushes planted by my reclusive neighbours
Hidden there will be June's cool morn
Reminding my skin of what is yet to come
A perfect specimen of summer

                        ~

Three years later, I will learn
That snow upon the railings of my porch
Is simply waiting for my bulky glove
Sliding towards it in hurried expectation
The unmarred scene now punctured

The only illumination there can be
Is not from stars or other such things I ignore
But from the window of our kitchen
Bidding frost bitten cheeks to return
And warm in defiance of winter


It is only when I recall that I feel I am at all