out beyond the break of the hill,
past the weeping-willows,
there lies a small mound of dirt.
i remember that hill from my childhood,
still embedded in my mind.
i used to go there to find myself,
returning full,
overflowing in prepubescent omnipotence!
now i go there only in my dreams.
visit the hillside,
try to find the tranquility,
the simplicity,
the sheer exuberance of childhood.
if only for a moment,
i could stand again beneath the stars,
sit upon the damp ground with folded legs,
knees in hands,
contemplating – nothing!
i would die to be reborn,
to be that innocent,
that benign!
standing too close to the edge 