Everything’s brightly coloured for children:
plums taste of purple and language is light.
Recall how we played and laid on the grass,
all sappy with newness bursting through glass
and what if every day opens as May-day
blossoming buds on an evergreen tree;
child-like-ness fired in your brain, never pruned,
like an unfading flourish, radiant for now
- yes for now - but again and again.