Children teach their mothers
to gather pond reflections
and the opera of the sky in just one bird
when one small hand
rolls a bubble across the air
covered with a cloth of clouds
summer melon sweet
love becomes as simple
as sharp rocks and barefeet
and as enchanting as one toothless grin
Each breath like a current
now tracks the sounds left in time
minutes of milk-drained comfort
and musk-scented blankets
hair tatted to one finger
and the whole world at the same time
until one day a leaf is tasted and the tongue knows
there is more then jumping and falling
for there is mud and wind
and the danger of loving too much
or not enough
