I dandled my childhood
on the knee of a dream,
and it danced there, it shimmied, all giggles.
And it shook, not because
of the childhood it was,
but because I would have it so wriggle.
To so bounce and cavort
because I, in my dream,
had the power to move it and give it
the past that I wished
for myself, in my dream-
as it wiggled, I’d see myself live it.
But the dream that I want
is the one with no arms,
where my childhood will dance on its own;
for the dream that I had
is the one that I lost,
as I danced into manhood alone.