Lost at Woods' Edge

Through these woods I once ran naked.
Under unfettered skies I spun beneath tree shadow.
My pale flesh was dappled
by early autumn sun.
Lost savage in public glade.
Pink ghost near the culvert seen.

I can see the ghost now,
running just past memory's limits.
My 9 year-old shade darting between trees,
between park and suburban homes,
between distant street & concrete culvert.

And I wonder if the ghost is true,
or a memory fragment,
or a dream.

The afternoons were Lone Ranger & Superman.
In the summer Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore
were my surrogate parents.

And breeze against bare skin was real.
Grass between bare toes was real.
Movement between dappled shadows was real.
More real than naps on thin plastic maps
or playground jeers or letters or
even thoughts.

I asked the trees what this poem wanted to be.
Alive, in the forest.
I asked the creek, thin shadow of the Canadian River,
what this poem wanted to be.
Laughing toward the ocean.
I asked the grass what this poem wants to be.
Growing to the sun.
I asked my ghostly dappled flesh
what this poem wants to be.
Alive, alive, alive.
Ignorant of history, forgetful of self,
lost, lost, lost.

Lost at woods' edge.
The poem as it appears in my Moleskine Notebook. Two bits unrelated to the poem have been whited out: my last name, and a friend's contact information.
This poem is a companion to other "memory" poems such as "The 34th Street Flood"