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