I hear hollering in the distance.
Mates racing in the sun.
Spherical purity entangled in itself.
Boys’ voices in the ceiling of the day.
Racing and chasing,
the light of kings in their eyes,
the laughter of earth in their throats,
to be whatever they will be.
it takes a lifetime to retrieve,
here in all its shapes and power,
but not without breakage,
then old boys
put limbs and hearts back together,
from love and gratitude
for boys being boys.