Running
child at
play, all ribby and
smooth-limbed; you’ ll not recall
today yet it will be
mine to linger on some fall
afternoon when I am
seated in a chair by a window. It
will die with me,
unrepeated, these foolish few minutes
running
through the sprinkler
with the
new cut grass sticking to
your pink and flashing feet;
running
with your sister in the
heavy heat as the water
falls in fountains drops,
silver drops, a cool
curtain on your children
skins; and I, feeling
childlike, too, in the falling
evening picked you
squealing under arm and
dashed through the water,
too, you two, smiling,
soaking, whooping,