These two trunks
will grow on anyway
having watched my child dance
in sparkling summer sprinkler drops
breathed calm into my storms
as I swung raging, aging –
I’ll never know what they thought
of the peonies I neglected
the thyme forgot,
now over violets iced
they stand sentinel yet
as my little dog already pulls me on
past sentiment, squirrel searchings.
The future will not pause for us.

But I remember how they healed me
and I weep for what I could not give them
these two hands
will build on anyway, but
bare on the rough bark
they are misty ghosts to these giants

And the sky between their leafless looming
answers my hot face
with snow