fluttering chatter lingers by the swing-set
grandparents step separate, back from boy
playing in the sandbox, silently judging the sunlight.
talk of past years, but few still, through
the voice of an eight-year-old speaker--
where history is mysterious pretense
stepped-in for living desires.

where thought-stream dives beneath
written word, the back and forth,
exchanges of energies divide/derive.
shoed feet on man-placed sand, out of sync
with expectation, the grains barely can
(re)cover their ground. lain almost
by accident about our uncovered
fingers, between our invisible sounds.

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