trail, stones twisting between slim
;…….…evergreens and beyond until unseen,

lost among a black patch, a mystery
;…….…bit of thickets yet filling the distance

except for one line of light above,
;…….…that cold flow of sunlight still rising

higher over everything, indicating
;…….…the beginning of a new day—offering

a sharp contrast to this dark path
;…….…we have entered—its bright opening

like a slit that finally might split
;…….…the thin screen of silence between us.
 
 
 
 
 
 

beads for keeping count on a rosary.
;…….…He knows intimately those figures

most cannot fathom, has memorized
;…….…pi to thousands of places. We believe

he visualizes the numbers printed
;…….…as columns of cuneiform characters

posed in pictures seen on a tinted
;…….…screen, perhaps in the way Cezanne

celebrated nature’s abstract gifts
;…….…by suddenly delivering vivid imagery,

broad lush brush strokes imitating
;…….…its right angles and the vibrant tones

or those blunt shapes of dull stones,
;…….…discovering true hues of shrubbery,

finding bright lines of sunshine, light
;…….…sliding over slopes of shadowy hills.
 
 
 
 
 
 

from the middle of a mud-filled
;…….…meadow, each one rising like another

colorful sun suddenly added
;…….…to the wide morning sky, shining

in bright reflection as it drifts
;…….…into a slant of dawn light, reaches

toward farmland farther east.
;…….…Every year we come here, hoping

to notice once more how
;…….…these large objects float so easily

with even the slightest breeze,
;…….…moving smoothly through the blue

fields above us, now cruising
;…….…the wind current as quietly as those

final few scraps of clouds
;…….…forging higher overhead, nothing

more than decorative remnants
;…….…left over from yesterday’s storm.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Their thick branches shift slowly
;…….…in the wind with the strict rhythm

one might find in a chorus line,
;…….…as though a whole row of dancers

had been choreographed to move
;…….…in time with the mellow melody

of an orchestra’s tune. A gray
;…….…haze of chimney smoke unfolds

and gently rolls over the steep
;…….…slope of our roof. It slips across

the darkening lawn disappearing
;…….…below, sifted by stippled patterns

of shadows in the trees. My son
;…….…watches all through his bedroom

window, counts each black leaf,
;…….…calculates the world around him.
 
 
 
 
 
 

found rolling like dark marbles in the tidewater
;…….…wash, as if he had a handful of hard candy.

The wind’s speed picked up, the sea shining behind
;…….…him, each wave displayed like a crinkled

sheet of tinfoil unfurled under that day’s final
;…….…splay of sunlight. Every one of our son’s

uneasy steps at the ocean’s edge left an impression,
;…….…still refilling with water—little hints missed,

a lack of balance whenever he would lean to lift
;…….…another stick of driftwood as if the shoreline’s

slant had suddenly become too steep, or the tipped
;…….…head and sideways glance he’d give us.

Today, those unsure moves that camera caught
;…….…appear uninvestigated evidence left behind,

even in this scene when the tape runs to its end.
;…….…He sits on the sand, back toward the shore,

counting out his collection of shells in a single file
;…….…as if pretending all of them were merely parts

of some private treasure, the way anyone might
;…….…arrange family keepsakes, jewels or gems

kept as heirlooms somewhere in a darkened drawer,
;…….…brought out for comfort in a time of grief.
 
 
 
 
 
 

a few weightless clouds now drift by
;…….…in a late afternoon sky. Already, parched

leaves of our backyard trees have begun
;…….…to turn; each curls like a crisp bit of paper

placed a little above a flickering candle
;…….…flame. My son shades his eyes to glimpse

the horizon, as if again awaiting tints
;…….…he sees every evening hinting at the finish

of one more day. In his mind, Alex is
;…….…measuring time by charting the sun’s arc,

tracing its rate of descent beyond far
;…….…lines of black trees, marking this brilliant

vision of backlit landscape to recall all
;…….…these details in the darkest hours of night,

when he will fear the sounds he hears
;…….…in dry winds blowing outside his window,

hoping to remember even those distant
;…….…stones glowing like embers in a dying fire.
 
 
 
 
 
 

of park oaks, again awaits the late
;…….…flash of sunlight that will angle

below those long lower branches
;…….…like a white page of stationery

secretly slipped under someone’s
;…….…shut door. Leaves flutter above

like black moths with each breeze.
;…….…Alex enjoys the way he seems

to disappear in the darker corridor
;…….…of shade, as though no one will

know he’s still there, staying safely
;…….…away from sight like some young

thrush tucked into its nest, just
;…….…knotted twigs, or as a cold hand

is hidden in the pocket of an old
;…….…coat, hoping for more warmth.
 
 
 
 
 
 

to flames rising high behind
;…….…that drapery of gray sky still shading

a smooth glaze of lake water
;…….…tinted jade beneath it. A tattered

patch of flat pasture borders
;…….…this shoreline, an edge of dead grass

aligned alongside the dunes,
;…….…where white-winged gulls with ringed

bills fly by, lift, hover above
;…….…in an onshore wind. I watch my son

run through a few shallow
;…….…pools along the soft slope of beach.

Each time he reaches out
;…….…toward the birds floating overhead

as if holding a bright new kite
;…….…with tightening string, feeling every

bob or weave aloft, hoping
;…….…he might reel one in before we leave.
 
 
 
 
 
 

through the narrow gaps—leaping each obstacle
;…….…in the covered maze, jumping every exposed root

jutting up or fallen branch underfoot—leading
;…….…me through those limited openings as if he knows

where he is going, even though we have never
;…….…been here before. He seems unafraid of what lies

ahead. Birds chirp somewhere in the dark snarl
;…….…of limbs looming above us, then fly away unseen.

By the time we reach a wide clearing, I’m nearly
;…….…out of breath and in need of rest, but Alex appears

refreshed, ready to begin again. Without a word,
;…….…he rushes by me, back to that black web of shadow.
 
 
 
 
 
 

the summer sky the way one silver
;…….…earring glistens when a woman’s

hand lightly brushes back her hair.
;…….…In this stillness, I sit and listen

to windless silence while my wife
;…….…and son sleep, the invisible vines

twisting like twine in the darkened
;…….…garden, where tomatoes and red

peppers continue their slow growth
;…….…unseen in an act that constitutes

some secret counter to the chaos
;…….…we will all witness with sunrise.