That boys with Adam’s apples ripening find the first Helen
in their thoughts, and towers beckoning and horses poised;
that Goliath’s thuggery may tug their sinews into slingshots
and pebbles triumph at the bully’s brow; let books descend
into their fledgling arms like burnished rungs of Rapunzel’s
hair. Let the words spill into their upturned palms like a
clutch of enchanted beans.1
