Shafts of jubilance from the sun that laughs
with all the enthusiasm and innocence of the barefoot
boy in the sandbox
warm his trusting back,
which is bent toward his creative labors.
He slowly turns from the earth to the sky,
contemplating its nature for the first time.
Examining the artful pile,
he becomes dissatisfied.
In the darkness of disappointment,
he reshapes the familiar soil,
searching for something elusive and ambiguous.
He looks to the clouds for inspiration,
but they are lost to him.
The sight of sunlight escapes him,
and he senses that
something unfamiliar is dawning.
He will not step
for fear of losing the cool sand under his feet
and of bruising his toe on the splintered edging.
The sounds of living motion
confuse his unfiltering ears,
and he stands alone.
From the menagerie of ambitious voices
comes an offer of companionship.
His hands encourage him with their tales of a friendly grip.
The most faithful moist sand
remains with his sole
as he treads new ground
on the same earth
again and for the first time.