July 2 by Neil Dyer


child at
play, all ribby and
smooth-limbed; you’ ll not recall
today yet it will be
mine to linger on some fall
afternoon when I am
seated in a chair by a window. It
will die with me,
unrepeated, these foolish few minutes


through the sprinkler
with the
new cut grass sticking to
your pink and flashing feet;


with your sister in the
heavy heat as the water
falls in fountains drops,
silver drops, a cool
curtain on your children
skins; and I, feeling
childlike, too, in the falling
evening picked you
squealing under arm and
dashed through the water,
too, you two, smiling,
soaking, whooping,

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