We found reality in movement then,
Unchecked by thoughts of love, or life, or death,
Or sick tomorrow's pleasure-robbing shadow;
But, having life, we gulped its earthy breath.

Our uninflated pains and fears and angers
Could not eclipse a chip of stolen coldness
From Miller's ice truck, or the wild thrill
Of dangling from a jerking speeding boxcar
And laughing at the shouting railroad dick
Who gandy-danced the tracks in vain pursuit.

We had no appetite for food that isn't.
Our stomachs didn't turn at week-old bread
Trimmed of mold and spread with peanut butter;
Sometimes we chased it with a broken melon
That fell, we said, from Tony's horse-drawn cart.
And when McKeever's apple trees were loaded,
Or Bailey's vines were drooping low with grapes,
We went on risky after-dark excursions
And came back heavy-bosomed with our plunder.

We didn't try to stop the earth from turning;
In fact, we hardly realized it did.
If, walking home, we saw day's blazing finish,
It caught and held us while the colors deepened;
Then going slowly on, we captured glow-worms
For pocket-lanterns in the thickening dusk.