Dreaming Still

I walk through green
After days of rain,
Cross a small bridge
Over a little creek
With glints of gold sun
On rocks of brown moss.
I am nine, behind
The farm house where
We lived beside the creek.
I’d squat, small butt hung
Behind my folded legs,
Bare feet set in the cool clear
Water, watching for a tell tale
Flicker of antennae or pincer.
I’d grab the sectioned middle
Of the crayfish between
Thumb and forefinger, slip
Him in the mayo jar to sell
To the city men for fish bait.
Oh, the dreams I dreamed
In this sun dappled glade
Below the waving trees,
Of faraway places out of
Books or perhaps, a prince,
With eyes the color of
Sunlight on a country creek,
To walk alongside.