Another spring, and you are still a child.
This year I find myself walking behind
You in our circle round the pond,
Your hiking boots half covered by your night gown--
Finding dandelions gone to seed
And sucking in our breath on the count of three
To blow the perfect circle to the ground,
Then finding more around
Until we pause beneath a tree that's dropped its buds
And walk the circle finding where they fell,
The white half trodden petals getting crushed
Beneath our efforts to believe them well.
And when we come full circle I'm surprised
To hear myself urging you to go inside
While you are always asking for one more time
And though that's what my heart seeks, I deny it.