Neshaminy Creek

Neshaminy Creek


I step in quicksand puddles
hidden by muddy leaves,
following the sound of water falling
beneath a circus tent of trees.

Years ago I jumped rock to rock,
now creepers and cobwebs cling to me;
branches brush against my coat -
like turnstiles to puberty.

Following the old deer path
I come to the crumbling stone levee,
where i watched a water spider pirouette
among the lily pads and memories.

Once a boy lay on the pine needles
dreaming about sailing ships on the sea,
he sat in the bushes with a braless blonde
and skimmed wishes on pennies.

Sitting on the dam I looked for any diversity:
now, a 'No Fishing' sign flaps in the breeze,
and a circle marks the limb
where our swing rope used to be.