I used to swing until my toes
touched the sky.
I lived in a world where grass
tasted of sunrise and skies gave birth
to elephant, lion, and hippopotamus clouds.
I once danced in the safety of moonlight,
barefoot on the hard gravel of our drive.
On those humid July evenings
stars rained from the growing corn,
fluttering their tiny wings and swaying with life.
I remember standing motionless, waiting
for the small beings with an open jar -
crying when their light eventually dimmed.
 
I loved the mud, oozing between my toes -
so wet and cold, goose bumps dotting my arms.
The water from the hose icy,
cleansing the dirt
and my ankles.
 
I have eaten moths. Their delicate wings stuck
to my wet lips.
I rode Big Wheels
and four-wheelers
and tractors
and horses.
But mostly I just swung,
my toes dancing with the hippopotamus,
and a fire fly.