As in the beginning of the Earth
where the first atmosphere
drives out the vacuums in space,
the children’s voices
barrel-roll into one another,
pulling the chords of jubilation,
toes and feet pounding
at a carpet of air.
A morning hunger lingers,
then and now,
a-thunder of the first ancestry’s
dance around a fire,
little mouths knowing no whisper,
then and now
echoes of light waves,
cart-wheeling morning time
between the fingers of little hands.
Outside the beach house doors,
the north wind pushes the sea away
as the belly of the ocean floor
inverts shelled creatures into soft sand:
Singing. then and now
Sunrise unto the children
whose voices ascend with colors of hope.
The atmosphere and children
become
the becoming, itself,
those infinitesimal smiles of wonder
mirrored in the glass door panes of every house
looking in-and-out-side-ways
summersaulting words,
then and now,
filling the empty spaces,
into their places in the universe,
as each child sits
before the world
with their toys.