The Golden Age

as children, we belted tunes of blind faith

on our hands and knees digging for gold, 

convinced of the value of old chicken bones 

and rotting teeth beneath our bodies at night.

grandma always said to believe and dream.

so we followed suit, brazen and insistent 

but what do we do now when our tears 

can no longer be consoled by the rhythm

of enchanted bedtime stories and treasure maps

whose x now marks the spot of spent time? 

in every wrinkle of my face and fingers and toes

I search for a path that will usher me back in time.