The Treehouse

To every man
His treehouse,
A green splice in the humping years,
Spartan with narrow cot
And prickly door.

To every man
His twilight flash
Of luminous recall
            of tiptoe years
            in leaf-stung flight;
            of days of squirm and bite
            that waved antennas through the grass;
            of nights
            when every moving thing
            was girlshaped,
            expectantly turning.

To every man
His house below
And his house above—
With perilous stairs
Between.

by James Emanuel

Comments (2)

I like this very much. Alas, I recognize myself in these lines, having never outgrew the treehouse stage. (smile)
Lovely... With a certain Dickinsonian flavor... A great poet as yet insufficiently acknowledged.