Just Found This! Almost had forgotten it existed...


Dylan’s January Fort 

On Peter’s Hill, a few hundred homes nestled, slender
skyward reaching, blanketed in oppressive white.  Silence save
imagined crackling from wood stoves.

Behind 30 Ashfield in the small patch of land stands
our creation now encrusted in sharp stone shoals, burning
ice.  Its wonder still steadily glows.

A week earlier exhausted from life 
and shoveling, surprised 
myself  starting the pile.  I smelled 
salty sand, remembering sitting 
with cousins as we dug seeking China.

Breaking the silence scattered 
snow offers came hurried, 
excited footsteps,
              descending 
                               sol-
                                    fege.

Out the door a burst of orange, your mouth 
dropped, eyes widened, countless 
possibilities.  “A tunnel Dada!”  

Complying I pushed
aside cautious tendencies and the 
mountain’s center ’til we both
could burrow through.

You shuffled back and forth behind, assignments 
shouted, warnings of approaching 
AT-ATs diving recklessly face
first.  Your troops in retreat.

I have never once, 
imagined as 
you do.

Tonight, high above upon
the porch I stare 
as our fort breathes alive 
with one thousand diamonds.

Tomorrow, I 
will trudge you back 
there selfishly, 
as I have much, 
more to learn 
from you.

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