The sun trapped in my half-sealed eyelids, I
Could not peek if I tried – the blindfold’s tight,
No need to, though – I can identify
You anytime, old friend, both day and night.
No matter where I go I’d recognize
The bitter-sweet of clover on the tongue,
The cool caress of wind, I don’t need eyes
To see you as you were, when we were young.
I hear the stillness of the hot high-noon,
And smell the earth stirred by the garden rake,
I feel the rain with all my cells, and soon
I know you, friend, I do, make no mistake.
You are my dream, my childhood, my July,
I carry with me, though I’ve left, you stay
Forever in that place where you and I –
That magic place –
where blind-man’s-buff we play.
Live for the Love of it,
Sasha A. Palmer (a.k.a. "Happy")
prompted by Poetic Asides