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.