back from frolicking amongst ferns
watching them uncurl
with abandon
clutching small stems of crushed buds
pretending it’s not sad
they won’t get to bloom
opened a page from a favorite writer
floating amid his images
of bears and cellists and stars
knowing it was an unremarkable day
doesn’t diminish mine
for I held magic awhile
needing to touch another frolicker
I can always find him where I need him
on my shelf when it’s quiet