Nostalgia for Nothing
The things I don't remember
about childhood are the ones
I miss the most: nights I
slipped quickly into untroubled
sleep, pine-boughed days through
which I tumbled and pretended--
I'm just guessing here. How exotic
the town of Childhood seems.
To think: I once lived there, or so
I tell me. Childhood is a village
with its own sun and moon,
a silver silo full of long days,
a golden clock-tower. It is
a place filled with people
who passed on from here.
Copyright 2008 Hans Ostrom
