His fingers wrap around the toys: a thrill.
He kneels to God, and binds his dreams with theirs.
A sun to planets, he encircles flares
of joy. The dolls possess a Life. He will
forget them not. A quest to Pleasantville,
fugacious plot wrapped neatly in a square.
The yawning skies compose his nom de guerre.
He is a soldier, pirate-overkill.

A season fades. New winds caress his nape.
Reflections soon expose his tawdry cape.
He can’t disguise the fact; his dreams are crushed.
He’s saturated paper, just about
to tear. Destroys his shadow, cheeks aflush.
He trades his toy guns for the grown-up route.