One day I will put my hands in my pockets and there will be only lint,
or maybe a coin or two.
There will be no pebbles,
or stones described as gems.
No toy horses,
elastic hair bands,
tiny twigs,
or rosemary sprigs.
No lip gloss or candy wrappers,
unless mine,
bought to remember the days
when time moved slow like water,
and also, too fast.
When, to balance, you’d put your hands on my head as I’d put on your socks:
one sock, two socks,
one shoe, two.

When all you wanted was to play,
especially with me.

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