The poems that I learned as a child
– I’ve forgotten the words –
let rhythms glide by where I stand
on a rock in the creek.

I gaze at the banks where I saw
the black moccasin smile.
That was so long ago. Now I look
way upstream to the falls

remembering Grandfather laughing
while helping me climb
through cool spray and shadow to sun.
Where had we been going?

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