From Time to Time, It's Time

From time to time - It's time
To return to fields forgotten
To smell dry lima beans in harvest
To spy the dragonfly reflected
In muddied footsteps of recall
To the dusty creek no longer
Irrigating twisting vines,
Empty now of naked splashing
Shows no sign of smiling faces
Smoking stolen cigarettes
Beneath the fallen eucalyptus
Deep aroma mounds of memories open:
Skipping stones ripple still spots
Arousing crawdads self-defending
The creek and run are now forgotten
Choked by trash and flattened tires
Deep in mud, fossilizing like
Our fishing lines and rusty sinkers.
Amidst strings of long drowned worms