Boy At the End
My Huskie watches the sailboats
From the end of our dock
He cannot swim
But still considers himself king of the lake
Not unlike his chase of robins
That flutter from one tree to another
Looking down and over their shoulder
Singing to his snarl
I see my twenty-something visiting son
Sitting the same the next day
At the end of the dock
No boats but for a sheet of lake
Between his shore and that shore
Held in the wonder of his long young gaze
I wish I could walk down and pull him back
Turn him loose from all the answers
I wish I was not God
With the burden and responsibility of creating something mortal
He is brave
Brave enough to be scared
Brave enough to face it
Hunt what he can never taste.
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