Playground In Winter
PLAYGROUND IN WINTER
Kids with short haircuts like to win,
red-faced and sweating, they stamp the frost slick
beyond the frozen puddle, to lengthen the slide.
Others watch the edge and centre,
piece the universe together
from kits of unlikely components.
A lone mystic boy blows phantoms
of steaming breath into the low sunbeams.
Girls are wise, waiting for life
to remind them of what they know.
Their skipping rope describes
a wheel, constantly turning;
playground dharma. And their shadows
stretch half across the playground.