Winter Iii - Children Find Their Way

The jelly beans of polished stones Are lined up on the windowsill Of our kitchen Melting on the winter tongue Of January’s narrow sun Collected by my daughter And devoured by her special care For all things on Earth. She carried the rocks in her pockets Fingers caressing them to oblong dots While her eyes fidgeted and followed Whatever darkness loomed before her Aware of Plato’s dangerous snare For the rabbit foot of Body Or the fox nose of Soul Nobody knows What comes first or what will last And at the bottom of Elysian’s Hill I watched as she swung her legs Over a sunken saddled fence of snow To enter a frozen orchard The weight of those stones No burden to her Pulling her along With the gravity she had granted them In her own faithful way While the craggy moon Up there Strained at the fondle of its blue harness Shining its white light to my daughter’s face She looks back to me Pointing to something Perhaps the umbilical of space From where she’s been to where she’s going Nothing more Now But for her row of worries lined up before me As I wash an apple in the double sink Looking through the wispy cross hairs Of this barren kitchen window.