springboard

The children are

Like flowers in a rockery

Climbing between the

Crevices, unbleached

And wildly colorful,

made alivened by the sun.

they wear out

toward dusk as

the sea is painted flat.

Hard wooden bowls

And their light soup

Breaking the baked bread

With stories of their day

They will become craftsmen

The way they weave

Their tales.

They don’t worry

Like jumping from

A springboard with

Eyes closed they

Spin in the air

And enter sleep.