I wonder there

where it is, beyond any doubt,

a wonderful day in the neighborhood, if you—

who have never had to ask someone,
“Won’t you be my neighbor?”
still reside in the land

of Make-Believe
here in the end?

King Friday: here,
fear not, even you, the 13th,
belong to my heart—no more a mighty fortress
but amorphous river running wild,
free but oh-so lonely
like doe-eyed child I was,
so sure you were
not foe but friend.

Queen Sara: then
when she was princess of my heart
once upon a time ere she was turned against me—
she who was my world, my little girl

was carried on your horse
as river ran its course,

courted and claimed,
chosen and crowned.

I listen now…

How Mr. Rogers and his heart
whisper through time, meet me running through the hills.
Chills! I: a mother consumed with grief.
Her madness stalks me still
as the memory of you
I thought so real,
like love we found.

Just as you are—
far, just as you were. As I am,
just as I was, perhaps in time to be again.

When I pick up the pen to begin…

When I walk in the woods,

lost in love or wonder…

I’m sad sometimes

but close to you.

Close too to God.

Hark now! Cue the royal trumpeters!
Whistle while you work. Eat your custard! Drink your fill!
But remember the color purple,
one night of innocence
and do not deny me
this memory,

all that heals me.