when I was really small I’d collect gems,
little trinkets & other shiny objects that I’d find.
I remember being bewildered
with just an oddly shaped rock
or crooked blue bird feather.
I’d stroll around for hours-
stuck in joyful fixation.
man, it makes me wonder..
when is it that curiosity becomes a floating phantom?
when exactly does all the whimsy get ironed out?
I mean, is it flattened with the weight of time?
or do you think it’s possible that life is just the act fading amidst nostalgic sigh?