When I tugged you
in the little wagon
with the wobbly wheel,
to our private playground
on Hyland Hills,
faint laughter an acre away
You swung sweeping arcs
and leapt toward the sky
with such courage and grace
that I am certain is unmatched
by the young Mayan hunter
And my joy of the moments -
slivers of history -
spent together with you
burst my weak heart
like the ancient seas
swelled from the sorrow
that moments cannot last.

A misty rain grew to a drizzle
and you had no choice
but to scamper to the wagon
for our long trip home.