A child at ten is still
A bit of a stem cell—
You can tell what you’ve got,
More or less, but not yet
What sorts of roles will be
Played—it’s half here and all
Out of your hands by now.
The world and the child will
Make up a mind, the way
The world and you are still
Merged in a mind, which you
Think of as yours but know
Is more the world’s. The child’s
Mind, world, roles, fuse as lives
All do, the way huge oaks
Sprawled in hay fields with cows
Aren’t scarred, groomed town park oaks,
Nor roofs like oaks in woods.
Friday, February 26, 2021
Green Stick
