We played kickball for the last few hours, the day
just beginning to diminish.
The mosquitos were out that night, I remember
our sweaty skin and jumping hearts pacing
through that empty field.
It was a masterpiece, I believe, the scent of it all,
masterful in a way that only a child knows.
The dusky sky looming over our heads,
precisely placed apart from a dying world
with kindred spirits, yelling it's need to be known.
We run with dirt in our shoes and wind in our hair
with gravity placed gently on our finger tips,
touching the tongue of the rose bud
because she loves me so,
and I so her.