An old soul at seven
he expresses wisdom
without reservation
in poetry of thought.

He moves with frantic
energy, until he settles
into remarkable
moments of reflection.

On a timeless beach,
on sand as fine as
sugar and cinnamon
he contemplates value.

He see’s himself in
this timelessness, as well as,
the fragility of life, and
the randomness of chance.

A handful of sand he lets
pass through his fingers
saying, mom this is my 
heart if I didn’t have you.

Then with another handful
he says, as he holds it firm,
this is my heart, now 
whole again.

for Carson Michael Flynn