Base to Base

The little hands are always grasping, always
Curling around the stems of flowers,
Leaving hints of pollen on the cheeks
Of visitors.

It’s like babies know that life awaits,
They know processes we have forgotten.

In the garden their primitive senses
Reach for other life forms, spending minutes
Reflecting on sand globules on the deck.

Before we scare them with fear of insects,
They intrigue their own hearts with
Legs of ants, lightning bugs’
Blinks, spiders’ webs so sticky.

Our urge to teach, to correct,
Overwhelms their curiosity, and we
Make them understand
Much too soon for them to know.