Harvest

Under a restless sky and a jealous sun,
among the field of tall grasses
she and I raced, hided, and laughed
as if tomorrow was a far distant island
these were innocent times when boys and girls could simply play
without complication
with meditation
without the spectre of psychotherapy
without the turmoil of sexual politics
without misconstrual
ah, what a bitter harvest that field reaped
once we left
hurtling headlong into the summer of our youth.