What Has Come to Pass

I remember when you were little,
Wanting a pitcher of coffee dark as night
That conjured up typewriters, detectives, and newspapers.
You never understood arcade exchange rates
And always trusted that adults told truths about monsters.
Do you think your blood is still drying
On that rock in the vacant lot football field?
And do you think those strangers still remember
The scrawny little runt of a "you"
Shouting out at them if they had seen the white whale.
Digging holes to expose the dinosaur bones,
Hiding just below the next shovelful.
Van rides that lasted years,
and the neighborhood park that was miles away,
And summer ending was your greatest fear.
Beauty was the the sound of Christmas morning
And your mom signaled the beginning and end of the day.
Fireflies used to exist back then, you never see them anymore do you?