Staying Nine

Eyes roll when I claim, "Yes. I'm nine years old."
I show how a digit's singularity bends to a curl.

Its balloon waves and blinks a forever age for me.

A time of bare feet that romp in glistens of grass, 
Days bring treasures with finch and phoebe chatter. 

Their wings linger, flicker me into a belief of flight.

Discoveries in wriggles and tangerine beetles emerge

from under rocks. Scents mingle in daffodil creases 
with hints of muffin. Eucalyptus floats on the breeze.

A climb in oak and magnolia branches reveals cloud

castles in the blue. Fearless of gravity, I slither down,
taste an apple and a tease of lemon on the tongue.

No boundaries exist. Creativity claims the moments

that dangle in leaves and swirl of aubergine whiskers. 
Polliwogs unfurl into frogs in the spirit of twilight.

Age challenges amateurs as puberty and years tug.
Stalking wonder forges a focus in curves of nine.
I will remain in a single digit on my inner starship.