I gather buckeyes.
Childhood burns in me.
A star never flaming out.
I gather what belongs to me.
What was made for me,
to run after in the grass.
A moon in a rosewood face.
The all seeing,
everlasting eye.
That’s what a buckeye is.
That’s what it’s meant to be.
A brilliant stone,
beautiful as a woman’s cheek.
To last as long
as an autumn day can last.
Gathering the wondrous seeds
of the buckeye tree.
The book The House of the World has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and is now available on Amazon.