I Laughing excited moving kids are playing. They are never tall or slow. All of us are watching, waiting, and I am seriously happy (enough to write a poem). II Thick moving feet, nodding slow to music, I saw some people whom I know. Yet I only saw them. I’m moving into thick molten ocean (enough to write a poem). III Easy talking relaxed and smiling, all my friends have found me. Awkward, then graceful, faster, we’re becoming playing kids. We’ve forgotten we’re tall and slow, our laughter doesn’t bite, or echo, and our filling movement is as our laughter. We’re flying, joyous birds in ocean (enough to write a poem).

April 1971