Was it just one summer

Or 18

When we built the causeway

Where if the rains were just right

We could slide down

On pretend elven skiffs through

The watery chute

Lichen and moss like afterbirth

Following us during our slides

While crawdads hide

between The sheltered holes


The stones arent as impressive anymore

No longer do they guide

The Anduin through as a

Make believe fellowship

Whoop and holler with the crisp

Chill of the waters that runs through, No

they are haphazard

Whether from nostalgia or storms

They jute like rotten teeth

No tongue or child to bother



I hold the hand of one experiencing

New wonder of the causeway

My nephew, seeing salamanders

As dragons.

His father, same memories

and adventures cloud his eyes

as the crawdads still watch

from their sheltered holes