Reflections

There are children inside you
playing and rising like
the dawn, the spring wind,
hot-air balloons and muffins
and they cannot be taught
the word ordinary. 

Do you feel them?
They are sliding down
the back of your eyes
and into your chest.
Will you tell them to shut up
and go to bed, to be quiet,
to be seen and not heard,
that life is not fair,
that you are in charge,
or will you say
that they must never grow up,
must wear a coat in May,
never break crayons,
or say that they can have
whatever they want
so they never become angry?

In any case, one day
they will find a dead bird
under the window
and ask why.
Your job is to bear
the cold hand of doubt,
and ask them to pick up the truth.
How else will they find
in the forest of aging,
the fruit of insight
laying quietly by?