Seven feet tall,
Our fears were no match for the imaginations,
We carried with us,
Each Pennsylvania summer.
How old could we have been that July?
I can still remember the way
We laid on boogie boards
In the middle of the Atlantic,
Telling folklore of the sea.
Do you remember that field,
We used to dance in?
Our knees dirty,
Our voices stung,
Our blankets stained in grass.
We were once so brave,
Like the fireflies that dodged our pink-stained jars.
Oh, how old could we have been?
Young enough to have forgotten each other’s eyes,
Old enough to know
The way a father’s temper left a bruise.
We must have been seven, or maybe eight.
I wonder now where you are.
Whichever moon you linger under,
There is still love I harbor for you.
Do you remember me?