handfuls of air

In the backyard safe again,

inside the solid wooden fence,

yellow leaves and afternoon sun

fall on my back as I kneel,

reaching deep into warm sand,

searching for treasure.

Of course I find it because I expect to.

A rust-colored penny

and then a newer one, then

a quarter, a gold dollar.

I fill my pockets and still there is more

because I know there is more, because

my young heart drives me on, beating

to the rhythm of more and more.

And when troubles come, I can feel

the coins rubbing against my heart,

so I keep my awareness there

on my buried treasure

as life leads me further

away.