In my recollection you are a boy
Younger than the rod against which
The baritone of your voice
And the stubble of your chin
Would be tested.
You are a boy with curly hair
And brown cherub cheeks,
And every time you leap from the bed
To the air
It becomes a cloud
And you become Peter Pan.
In my memory
We stand shoulder to shoulder.
Your fearlessness is infectious,
And I pretend to be unafraid.
Where are you now?
I gray and bend,
And you are still a boy
Somewhere, straight-backed,
Smiling and fearless.
They say you are the lucky one
Young, encapsulated in time,
Two dimensional, your story written
By us, those who remain, while you
Appear, fleeting, only in our dreams.
Most of the time we are lost
And we search for you among the stars
Come from Neverland, and tell us
What you found there.
Are you still who we claim?
Were you ever?
You are gone one year.
Is there time where you are?
Are you the boy again?
Can the rod that broke you reach you there?
What alms do we send?
Send us a story.
Even your shadow will do.
Better still: send the star as a balm
For we who remain.
Slowly We Unfurl Again 