—for Idris the Decorous

​

In the split, these kids were still

Taking themselves off the ground,

Taking themselves off the dirt,

Taking their difficult dreams off

The swinging tongue of self-distrust

As though an old, tired gardener

Picking mushroom from his babied soil

—Unafraid of the sun, unafraid

Of the preparation of the moonshine.

As the stars dress in their shining,

Unknown abode, these kids—

With the song of tomorrow tucked

Beneath their tender tongue—

Undress their bodies off the cloak

Of doubt and begin sprinting

Toward accomplishments, like time

Toward its inevitable goal.