Okie dokie. Breaking the big, random poem up and seeing what happens...
We burst our thoughts over
crackling, tacky water set out in the sun -
a pitcher propping the back screen
from which a scold whips
and we scatter
into feints, tiny knuckles, and head-long slides
across the hashmark grass.
Games of the fairly maiden and Sir Neopolitan,
seizing the swings and the hose-spine dragon.
We wet our thirst with lemon-spritz aide
and laugh brazen, wide-faced, at the sun.
We peel the freckles from our shoulders,
tossing flakes of memory
as we retreat into the years.
The daylight wraps sheer, mottled,
and daubs the world in technicolor matte.
It mutes at high peak, heat pressing
across my back in gold-standard weight.
Speckled skies draw up the blotter,
smudging out the sun in streaks of grey
to finger the locks of light in tender touch.