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by David Matthews

Houses dot the bottoms
Where Granny's cows grazed
And grass grew golden tall
To our bare, young waists
In the always summer light
So bright it shattered
Upon the earth
And left its glow there

We played along the creek
Imagined a wild river
In that bare trickle of water

Slick rock, cold,
With patches of gray-green moss,
Became a mighty cliff face

We scrambled about grand canyons
And exotic Africas
Of inner eye's wild imagining

Those years,
Tender, grand beginnings,
Are gone
The creek bottoms gone too
Yet they are with me
Part of whoever it is I am

I long for a quiet spot to walk
Plop myself down upon flat rock
Sunlight at play upon trickling water
I have some thinking to do



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