Childhood Is a Place, Not a Time
Childhood is a place, not a time. We have passports for it but are told At the border that they’ve expired. From where we stand, we can see Childhood’s hills, hear childhood’s Streams. Refugees from a country We can’t return to, the pure place We’ll spend our whole lives trying To be deserving of. But only when We’re dying will we be allowed To pass through childhood again. Then we’ll realize that it’s nothing Like the place we remembered.