Summer In Amber

We watched helicopter leaves whir to the sun-bleached grass,
pulled to earth by the warm, thick, heavy musk of summer
as a fingernail moon floated up,
suspended in splashes of orange and gold
and honey sweet childhood.
It wrapped around us in our makeshift teepee
while the sun set and we sat,
still rubbing sticks together
cause someone said they might catch fire,
and the world was still mud pots and wildflower salad,
and we were still feral, sunburned, hot,
and we hailed the gods of childhood with feathers in our hair

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