Amorak Huey

The Sand Pit Deep in the Woods

I remember the year as infinite,
the rocky hill as crumbling impossibly higher.

I have invented a childhood full of such cliffs

but I’m not getting this right. You cannot see
what I mean for you to see.

Think: too hot to stay for long.

Think: Red-stone. Soft-stone.
Grain-between-the-fingers.
Cool-under-the-pines.

Not playfulness but the shadow of playfulness.
Such castles we build.