I look at us grown in business
suits and I'm left reliving a time 
when we wore pastel frocks, our posteriors in the air 
poised like fluffed ducks under lemindigo skies.
 
We were those 
who painted on walls 
quaint azuletta squiggles
like proven Michaelangelos.
 
We'd stick fingers down dark places,
and became Beethovens composing ambrolime whales,
at each nova striking
utterance of "No."
 
We, who picked and ate 
more than our weight of plump, oranello peppers,
just to see how low
our tongues could hang.
 
Who lit matches
of firelilies, 
and climbed over tambrusia rooftops playing hard to get, 
we were raised to believe we've evolved from monkeys.
 
But from that height, remember, you pointed out to me the Ether, 
and I saw it too, then, and never again.