impressionable

I remember running 

across the still damp 

grass that baptized 

our bare feet with 

droplets

of morning dew, like 

brush strokes 

of green

and sunrise yellow  

brushing against our 

calves like friends 

calling us to play

even though we knew 

we were soon 

going to be 

too tall to play. 

We were impressionable 

like brand new 

pennies pressed with wishes 

and tossed into 

the pond, as we rested on 

our bellies stealing 

glances at our 

faces dancing like

ever-moving 

brush strokes reflecting

in the blue

and the afternoon 

orange, a tang of sweetness

tempting us to stay 

children, just a little 

bit longer.