Yes, yes, how could I forget?
I clearly remember the hum of dragonflies
as they sang my father at midday,
as the rolling fields caressed my cradle.
My mother plucked me from branches,
planted me in books. I stretched up, up,
until the cathedral became a forest
and the pages whispered in the breeze.
I followed a path into the darkened hills.
It stretched and split, as I wandered lost
and not-lost, in and out of shadow
searching for light (a candle, a fire)
as the dusk fell.
I remember star-swept skies and the fear
that I would fall into them, when
they were all I saw.