It was better then; you’d laugh
and see the things I showed you
that weren’t there.
When did opalescent dreams that only two could know
turn into feathered shadows?
Right here, I’d say, and you would nod
your sandy head
and answer, "Maybe blue, or aqua green,"
as walls turned shades and flowers grew
in the middle of the lawn.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology