Slip of the Tongue ~ A Collection of Poetry

In retrospect

Let's go tree-climbing for once,

like those days when it was only 

sun and dirt beneath the nail.

we didn't care.

I used to think I saw the world

through perfect clear glass,

now I see

it's but the bottom of an old wine bottle.

and it's a little bit cracked. 

We used to sit upon that mountain,

dangling feet off sharp edges

and magnifying the world as if

it were the knuckle on my right hand.

nothing seemed that far,

retro—

spect.