Small child, big Sandbox 

The bench tied to the big dog 

Big kids digging a hole to China 

Little cousins drinking from the sprinkler 

The stickers on the lamp posts that don’t go away. That is God. Embedded in my scalp under my hair where I can not see, there is God.

 Through the knotweed. Down the ladder made of tree roots. Up onto the big rock. By the river.  I stand, mud on my ankle and cuts on my knees. The sun sits just barely above the trees as the sweat sits just above my brow.