The older we get, the deeper we dig into our childhoods, Hoping to find the radiant cell That washed us, and caused our lives to glow in the dark like clock hands Endlessly turning toward the future, Tomorrow, day after tomorrow, the day after that, all golden, all in good time Hiwassee Dam, North Carolina. Still 1942, Still campfire smoke in both our eyes, my brother and I Gaze far out at the lake in sunflame, Expecting our father at any moment, like Charon, to appear Back out of the light from the other side, low-gunwaled and loaded down with our slippery dreams. Other incidents flicker like foxfire in the black Isolate distance of memory, cross-eyed, horizon-ha