the youth

counting the simple

bends and curves

found in the dips

and valleys

of some lost graveyard

in some lost town

filled with the forgotten corpses

of forgotten souls.

you could remember

a point in time when

nothing was lost and forgotten

nothing was finished

so everything seemed complete.

and the curvature

of your father’s palms

could measure the

circumference of the world

in a time where distance

need not be perceived

and “impossible”

meant nothing.

the plots designated for walls

& barriers had not yet

been determined.

a time when choices made

held no consequence

& the line dividing

imagination and reality

had not yet been drawn.

tip-toeing on the scope of possibility

we take a plunge

at one point or another

looking back at a time that can

no longer be understood

when nothing was understood--

and everything was beautiful.