in summer sun

maybe I was ten

the soft soles of my feet

floated over river rocks

like hot coals

a rite of passage

a display of bravery

while water the color

of hot tea

cinched around our waists

 

those days we

welcomed the night

tacky in the crooks

of our arms

we folded

scabbed knees

in circles around

a lowlight fire

 

our youth was

smooth like glass

 

and our beds

could have been

the soft earth