The soaked black sky of winter. 
Rain riding the moon, 
the undulating lake.

The pale green spiral of spring, 
fierce diamond mountains. 
Platinum rain.

The sputter spritz
of summer. Deep green
pines, eagle graced.

The stuffed sky white
with gurgle splash fall. 
Fern scented soil.

Our clear azure rain.


My son will be five forever.  Every day,
he'll shock me by saying please 

when he stops me talking, so he can
hear Ransome. Oh those Swallows 

and Amazons and their fight for the island.
With his red racer toothbrush, he will 

brush his bare butt (You said butt!
You said butt!) cry when I pry it away.  

He will eat only cheddar on rice,
golden raisins, eat them with his fingers

and talk through each bite. He will hug
his sister knock over hard. He will hug me 

full body on. He will refuse to put on
his coat with the broken zipper

even when it's cold, even when it's
pouring rain. He will know 

without counting what happens
when one banana is taken away.

All day he will say, "Avast there
Peggy you goat!" and laugh and laugh.