Speedwell.

I spy! I have been immobilized by the things I see.

The knuckles of rock I've climbed across,
And the welts of black on the birch

From our lawn.

I wonder if I could just listen to a song,
And have the tempo dictate me while it
Was going on.

Now, I am moving ahead. The current of expectation
Is at least similar to the current of the rock garbage,

Similar to the wood.

When I was a kid I used to thrust my hand at you, and say,
"Make way!"

I was part sail.