at the top of a pine tree
on the top of a mountain
at the top of New Hampshire
is the little boy
i was
swaying east
to west, to east hoping
the cracking sound
does not portend a fall
only the fall.

the little boy that wished
the sharks would leave
the ocean so he
could swim
at the bottom of a pine tree
at the bottom of a mountain
at the bottom of New Hampshire
i was a little
boy once playing
north to south to north splashing
the crashing sound
portsmouth tide springing
in the spring

summer, where are you
i can not see you from this dream
from this stream
from this conscious place
atop a pine
atop a mountain
atop New Hampshire
where, I am still

i am still

still the little boy.