A poem by BC Smith
Let’s talk to each other the way flocks of birds
talk to each other
silent, and in flight
Boyish archetype in a world of boorish architects
an imp in the foliage in the office
in the building
Secret playground when no one’s around
the ground is porous and buoyant, synthetic
there are ropes to climb
and climb and climb
Tree house slingshot
an impulse worth acting on
boy tree piano
I’m a thoughtful monkey
how to feel.
I’ve traded my jungles for jungle gyms.
I can never go back.