Would I risk walking down the avenue
of childhood. Past the cherry blossoms,
the laburnum fallen over when a storm blew
that drew strength to re-root and bloom again,
sit quietly on its woven branches,
curtaining myself behind golden chains,
rake new paths on the lawn from leaf piles,
before the gardener cleared what remained.
I would gladly trade all this privilege
to find safe hands clasped, above the mud
to give me a leg-up, to bridge the gap
to the first big branch of the redwood,
from where I could re-imagine this small
life re-shaped, re-cast entirely differently.