childhood out. A sneak preview
I gather up his toys in armfuls
and put his books
of frog princes and wild geese and
pumpkin brides and dwarfs where they belong
He has crossed the rapid flood
into the sparse terrain where I range
Chest deep in muddy water holding
his innocence aloft like a gun, I draw
my breath in, half hoping he will drown
He shakes himself like a dog on my ground
And now neither of us can go back.
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