the geese

You can’t catch it.
You simply cannot hold tight
like that baby fist
with its new purpose
clean and storming
with possibility
the promise of all the springs of forever
from all the suns of Forever.

See. Even as she grasps she learns
and each new second is
a maturity,
and a shutting;
a loss,
a silence.
Our world works that way.

Each spring she’ll watch the geese
from a taller vantage point
She’ll feel more deeply
how the rest of us are.
She’ll have matured
and the loss
is a calming
of the storms
of promise.

That’s really just how it goes.

So hold her.
Hold that fist that clenches that so precious
universe of stars and space
of wonder
and light.
Sometimes in the spring
you can hold up her little fist against our star
open it slightly
See through it to
the light
inside
to the
gift
of storms.