And now the lark and starling sing.
Now refraction comes through rain.
A child runs to find me across the playground
in Fletcher’s Field.
If I climb this ladder, reach down
cavalier from the roof to paint the eaves—
if I fall, could I make
another life, grey streak in my hair?
All these years, I have lived as if a thought
could sink me like a paper boat
and have tried to trace back the creek
that carried me out to sea.