years after wendy

peter, you don't know love
but i know you.
i can sew you pockets and iron out your shadow
and pretend you never cried;
you will give me wings for yourself
and smile your tiny teeth for the pirates.
you silly ass, you bird, you bliss:
the spires of london could prick your foot
while the stars scorch your feathered cap,
you won't know what's beneath.
in the cupboard you forgot
a part of adventure
not a mother you need, but me
to thimble your amnesia with the window always wide
and speak slow and breezy, telling the same story from now
until spring cleaning.