the film reel sputters to a still,

and for a moment,

we are back in our cul-de-sac’s,

robed in river song;

a gap in the fence,

large enough to slip fingers

and stones through;

reflections kaleidoscope

to dandelions, tinsel,

glass fireflies that fragment

when the room begins

to rise;

we applaud in waves without

asking for permission;

undulation of bas relief,

and i wonder if we are free now,

the same children

who fathered hand-me-downs

of their own,

creased every silk at the pace

of shared breath;

a flock startles

like curtained migration;

instinctually,

prayer strangles the dimples of

my chest.