They should
teach
the youth
to capture
their innocence
and trap it
in a bottle
with a cork
and send it
out to sea
where the
oceans will
rock lovingly
upon its
delicate
temperament
until it lands
upon a shore
and is found
when it has
grown
into itself.
It’ll be hope
then,
without notions
of inadequacy
or
irrelevancy.
They’ll teach
the youth someday.
It'll happen
when the treetops have become
finally
acquainted with
the bottom of the clouds
and
the air
no longer
quarrels
with the lungs.
The youth will learn;
and the water
will
be named
a sea
of tactile fancies,
a pool
of the whispered youth,
an ocean
of innocence.
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