Saturday

The contemplative lake rests
in obsidian luxury under
halcyon skies, juicy
little tadpoles sleek like curved
leeches glide under the glass surface.
Pine trees grapple the cotton candy
clouds and throw them below lazy lily pads.

This moment Saturdays are eternal,
a flame captured on film,
brief lapse of worry
carefree children of summer,
secrets and pirate adventures.

My childhood friend now
has a child and a job and I
wonder what does she think of
days like this. A past of smiling
good times or a future of grandchildren
flying kites in the park.

Where do our lives go when
the sun slips away and we
find ourselves twenty years
older gentle wrinkles around the eyes
wishing to dream on sand dunes
while cicadas mimic talk
miles away from any beach

before the struggle of adulthood begins.