Maybe

tangled thoughts
dance chaotically
through my head
with remembrances
of boating and biking
and car rides and
building an entire
cosmos on the floor
blocks and legos
and lincoln logs
becoming creation for
cars and wooden people.

when did we become
the wooden people?

maybe it was when
we stopped playing.

For Tim.

Maybe:  for National Poetry Month and the Writing Prompt of Poetic Asides (maybe) and NaPoWriMo.

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