As Little Boys

As little boys we rode bikes fast down the dunes, on the vertical side of Sand City Big tires creased deep furrows in the down-slope, same as boats trailing wakes upon the swell At the leeward portion of the great sand hills the long bronze shadows of late noon stretched to east Meeting low pines over ice plants just as early suppers smoked the spice into mists above Under which boys grew hungry and boys grew weary when drawn on-shore, but grew bold again when looking back to sea Then fortified, soon returned astride soft summits as if to challenge the long leading boundary of night A boundary against which little boys are forbidden, because bay breakers rage half-seen against the land Because the turnstiles of time get sand in the gears and the rising moon comes fully into its own Because the dawn sea compresses foggy dimensions into the unlearned territory of young hearts with full moon in the eyes Of four-foot warriors solemn in afterthought huddled in a circle as night overtook a long day of handiwork And even the bike furrows grew silent at last their contours to vanish in darkening flatness somewhere below our feet