jordan

we sit waist deep

in the dusty ashes,

scooping our dried-up

dreams in our hands,

letting them sift

through our fingers,

watching them gently

swirl in the air;

you come along,

a bucket of warm hope

in your hands,

sitting down next

to us, you suggest,

'maybe if we add this

to the mess,

we can create something

wonderful.'

so veddy proper,

in the top percentile

on the prim-o-meter,

we walk stiff-necked,

straight-backed through life

where you hide around

the corner,

giggling with your lifelong

pal, Spirit, arms full of balloons

bulging with victus aqua,

hoping to deluge us,

until

we loosen up enough

to lose ourselves

in you.

(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman