to stay with a child
his eyes are big,
but not for long,
and we are here to make sure that nothing is…
or maybe he’ll find his own imaginary lids,
his eyes drying
his hands are delicate,
and they’ll grow to fit his incredulous expression,
they will be his own when his voice vibrates in his fist,
when his tears draw dark curves on his chest
and he’ll look like no one I’ve seen before,
but not for long
and cradled, for tomorrow, home
carried, trampling within how fingers hold, each other,
I sometimes hope, that we see the low passages, smiling
quickly letting go, like leaves accompanying any measure of longing,
while we’ve been dreaming and lasting in hum
so when, we run down hills releasing seeds to become who we haven’t,
maybe we’ll find our sorrows reappear when the sun slows down
and we can welcome
and let go
carrying home old thoughts wrapped with arms of tired craving need,
the wind shaking cloth, as if slipping light into all
to remember how to want without shame
