My shoes are damp and worn
Running through creeks bouncing off rocks
Streams splashing my socks
We can’t see the end,
But that’s ok,
Sun rays stroke our skin
We trip through summer days,
Scraping our knees
Kids running suburban curbs
Like the divine right of kings

This world was granted to those
Who believe that fresh cut grass
And charred barbecue trump
City towers and cement spirits

We the few, the proud, the kids
With sparks circling veins, circuits
Connecting thoughts
Creating storms
Like heat lightning
In July’s heavy air
We will scream to the clouds
Even if no one hears it