The Old Work Horse

I want to escape,

Run out into the naked sun

And be consumed in the electric

Thoughtlessness of wonder;

To re-child my soul with carelessness;

And be safe again from myself,

Slope the shoulder and drop the plank

For a playful labor,

Unnumbered and unbearable.

I was always full of leaves–

Giggles of sunlight, shadow and breeze.

Until I lost them in their names–

An educated douse of greenly flickering flames.

I was an endless earth.

I was a rimless sky

Until I colored in the borders

And mapped out my God.

I want to turn back to the dream of spring

Where things grow without me,

Where breezes are not rented,

Where footpaths go unnamed,

And brooks bubble chuckles to themselves

Unaware that little boys are listening.

And I will,

After this lower forty…

Or maybe when my mortgage burns.

©Jeff Quill 2012