When I was a child
I thought I was not a wolf
and I wasn't.
Things just were. And
I was just
a kid, and I would
grow up. There was magic,
in that we could choose
to be fools who believe
in magic, as we all do
There was a tree
in the back
but not of a house
that I used to climb
when I needed to think
very intensely,
for a short huff and scrape
about climbing.
I can still recall
I am still there now
half-way through a fall
with my back
about to get slammed
and the breath
knocked out of my body
for a while, turning over
with my arms drawn in
and looking up
into black branching webs
film negative lightning
frozen onto white sky
gazing up at the limb
where I'd sometimes sit,
but not this time
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