Rockets

Let’s go launch rockets like when we were kids
in your friend’s backyard.
Before we had learned that every skyward flight
crashes back down, hard. 

Let’s ride our bikes to the beach,
hands above handle bars, candy between teeth,
like when trips were about adventure,
not mapping shortcuts to point B. 

Let’s rush into the ocean
like before we knew we could drown
arms stretched up high
shouting, daring waves to knock us down. 

We’ve felt water closing in by now,
flipped over handle bars,
floundered, found it hard to breathe,
gotten scraped, gotten scarred. 

But let’s build those rockets anyway.
Set them off.
Count down.
Let’s take off with them,
who knows:
We may not hit the ground.