Not to these days
of socks fallen down fluffy down on legs
of swinging too high on the plastic seat not knowing too high was a thing
where tin-can telephones sound like the voice in your head
and we could I want to believe laugh until the air around us bent.
Not to those days come back
but to yesterday when I woke
and a rooster was singing as I believe he is
and the moon just beginning to tip on its side was shining nonetheless
always in my window
laughter did not come not so it would hold me in place like a stopped watch
but a smile did
just curling maybe you can’t see it?
everything there was the same but different
come back to those