Missing Seven

Droplets of sun dance on the tips of my leather boots

Draped out in front of me as I close my eyes

I lean into the bricks at my back

I can taste the past

I close my eyes and I am back at the ruins

Glistening wise water dancing at my fingertips

Eyes wide, the promise of a miracle

I see it in the water

Every gleaming possibility of the present and the past

Seven years old in the afternoon running in the sun

No sense of time to rush or move slowly

I used to dance and close my eyes as I leaned against trees

Gently noticing the sun slipping in and out of the clouds

Reflected by shadows upon me

It swirls in my thoughts like a paint pallet with a dash of water

And I see the red of my eye lids with closed eyes

I breathe and watch it smolder