No worry over finding food—

They leave it here and there

And watch to guarantee each one

Takes no more than their share.

We have an island where we climb

The ropes and shake the trees

With keepers noting every move

In their analyses. 

Too hot or cold, we go inside

And watch the people pass—

Some stop and puff their cheeks and press

Their fingers at the glass.

There’s little that we want for here—

We’re safely reconciled

As captives free to pass the days

Dreaming of the wild.

This shrinking pond will have to do.

It’s wet—at least for now,

And big enough for one—or two—

Overheating cow.

But if the herd has heard the word

About our small retreat

There soon will be—for a tiny bird—

No room to dip its feet.

I’ve got a photograph that shows

A father sharing what he knows

Of depth of field and shadow—light

And rule of thirds to left or right

And how the gifts of God appear

In cosmos far and flower near

And in the minutes—one by one—

Spent between a father—son. 

Were I offered either or,

I’d yield a vault of gold

Or summers on a sea swept shore

Or stars a millionfold.

I’d wave the rights to any throne

And toss away the key

To any fortress—strong of stone—

If it were granted me.

No riches numbered more than sands,

Nor power over men:

Rather, let me touch her hands

Or hear her voice again.

Maybe someday long from now—

Fair skin, hair grey and wrinkled brow—

Your step will stop and gaze will fix

As sunset embers intermix

In wind-swept brushstrokes set aglow

That take you back years, years ago

To someday, somewhere you and I

Had stood to watch the burning sky

Blaze out across the distance—broad—

And talked of boys and dance and God.