we spin through the woods like kids
in complete safety inventing an old song
like kits who can’t hold hands wearing
new black mittens when mom is
forever gone spinning ‘round and 'round, tail
chasing beneath the owl, declawed and asleep
about new things to us, bouncing up the tall hills
amongst the gnarled trees like gompers’
knees as though no one is listening
yet they smile at everything.
they know growing up wasn’t
as easy as our songs make it seem to be
but the forest
would be nothing without us
in between, holding hands and singing
new songs about the way the woods used to be.