Smitten, hearts of passion greetReseda's child at Bel Air's feetBy birthright, two who could not beTwo others came and made them three

Older, younger, wanting notThe three a disparate family lotLawyer, soldier, father, totA negative cutter, fearing a lot

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Suburban and sunny, a flat open landscapeTo fly model airplanes, play baseball and translateThe millions of mysteries, laconic and foreignWhich play themselves out from the moment we're born

Other kids found their foundations of stoneConfident minds in their flesh and their bonesA skinny kid lacking some measure of trustFelt different, and silly, and wimpy, and "just"

Hesby Street School lay a half-world awayJust 'round the corner, school's open todayHis green dirt bike ridden with frozen, clenched handsIts knobby tires eagerly swallowing land

The schoolrooms there quite specifically smelledOf dust, and of coats, and of books, worn-in wellQuick! Sniff the purple-print mimeographs!The turtle tank, opened, the musical staff

From blocks to spelling, juice to popThen racing home, tired, to cold pudding cupsRitalin pills and an earned "class clown" titleHis excitement and energy too high to bridle

Then grades began falling, and schools were discussedSo transfer here, transfer there, transfer he mustIn process, uprooted his friendships, though goldenWhich left hollow feelings, like something was stolen

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Though not the first blush, his angst was then realAnd one shrink, then others, conscripted to healHis birth parents unknown, his aging new loved onesWhat a strange, simple mystery to float high above one