I'm Jumping over the puddles again
On raucous November afternoons
homeward along empty lanes and cart-tracks,
where every rut and pothole
brims with water –
The boy runs
Leaping, heavy-booted
and impatient with delight,
over the puddles
again and
again
and again.
The landscape moves with the wind,
tree and field
and distant, rain-lashed farms;
leaves spin earthward
diagonal across his vision.
Leaping, he peers down
into clear water
and sees himself
an image of winged joy
borne upward among clouds.
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