Good morning Neolithic, triune brain-boy
looking into the backyard reflective pool
because you choose to!
Are you satisfied with all
that you see and
if you close your eyes
and remain crouched there
in huddled stillness
while soft wind
names you “real”
because you sense her and
if you listen to sun call you
“turn to face me squarely, child”;
will there be something more
to long for?
As intimately deep with exploding life
a backyard is, you
my son, are equally inimical
to peace
yet so capable,
I hallucinate.
So, will you be leaning-in,
feeding pollywogs,
throwing-up all over your self?
Drink a little sunshine boy,
while it’s still free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem