Actual Heaven

We played

hide & seek around the base

of the volcano; dusking little shits

running our endless energies, out

in to the dead-end, Carolina yard.

Yes. There were volcanoes then.

Pah-sta with red sauce, Breyer's &

Sega Genesis, a decade freckled

in the roiling: our childhood home

on 412 Waterside Drive.

Now, we are unobvious. Old, our

hearts less playful, dusked, tough.

To revisit, once more, that tectonic

edging (dark equates to good), to

dangle from sentences of rope over

the mouth, I refuse. There was heat

& there was light down in that deep

stanza of earth. It fed skyward, sent

our volcano like tree sap, running.

Yes. All of this running, for me

it started

down there, in an actual heaven.

Far down in a center of the earth.