Do you remember

do you remember

the minutiae of a world

in the cracks of a bluestone wall

where sparkling bits of gravel

and sand and tiny rocks

would nestle and we’d

trickle them through

our fingers carefully

arranging them in little piles

do you remember

the hollows in the ground behind

curves of tree roots and

small sticks and sandy soil,

leaves and pollen from

fallen flowers, the smell

of school recess

do you remember

our shared and sacred world

created together

our act of mutual dreaming

utter absorption of children

together in something

no one else would understand

but us two

do you remember

how we looked so closely

and loved

mundane sections of ground

or a cut down log,

the whorls in a tree and

scrubby clearings near

stiff iron-squared fences

a place where we conjured

our own folklore of

kids with dusty feet or

puddles when it rained and

slicked down gum leaves

fascinating, secret

but not hidden because

only our eyes could see

what we invented there

do you remember

do you remember?