Field Of Passion Poem by MARINA GIPPS

As children
we ran through the wood barefoot.

Rolling dice and judging a deck.
Reading aloud lines of adult literature.
I stopped myself in the name of fear.

Reading, I robbed myself of problems.
Placing the overplayed
in the holes of my pocket

While those leaves,
those walls of the wood
stared up at the sky
without one question
about disclosures.

We bent the rules
with my losing hand.
We broke them
over my left knee.

Never a dull set when love wins,
opinionated.
His clever play-I still trample it
with bruised, bare feet.