at night after the kids have all gone and my clay-

at night after the kids have all gone and my clay-dried palms fall free to find home,

while the sunbeam's memory still bears down on me, and their squealish glee, their brazen beats still play upon the streets, an echoed repeat of the lively long week. while their screaming bleats, sweet colored sheep, leave me meeting meek the point of sink or scream, and I drive down the road and my shoulders feel weak, and it takes all I have for the muscle's release;

i let the music burrow deep, in my mind's eye, see, their glorious paths, their burning defeats. watch the world grow green all around me, smell the grass thick and sweet, feel my fingers, trusted compass, lead the wheels beneath my feet. roll the windows down while wind wraps 'round my sturdy seat, sent from trees' leaves and, somewhere in the distant, the shimmering sea.

i love their sweet deceit, their flooding feats, soothsaying, sorcery, tiny tongues' tweets.  love their eyes like marbled magnets, 'cross cafeteria paths, meet mine, and their melodies making visions, calmly, cookily, creating colors that don't exist yet, paths we might have missed if only we had just hid the day away in bed. instead: we pried for prizes peacefully, tucked terrifically inside glowing, growing heads. are rewarded in our wanting, sleep soundly at days' end.