Look at them:
breathless with
playground conquest,
flushed with energy and
the aroma of mischief
building at their hairlines.
Fire in their eyes blazes
with vigor and glory.
Soon enough they will
fall still and sweeten as they
sleep, lost as they are
to the commotion of
locker rooms and hallways.
Bruises remind them
who they are. Grass stains
keep infallibilities in check.
They come home later and
more tired than they should
but return again and
again into the world
until they grow older
than moonrise, wiser
than oak trees, more
receptive than puddles
and other sacred things.
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