Your little hand lost each stone on the backward throw
You waited for the splash that never came - puzzled
You learned to count by picking up sticks for the fire,
but then you would want different sticks...
and dump out your yellow bucket and start all over again
The day you climbed into the huge plastic tub
where the wash was soaking...that memory lives on
Like Lucy stomping grapes, you danced around

Every night we would pray and snuggle like spoons
in our tiny tent
I would sing “The Rose” and “Amazing Grace”
while you mimicked with your sweet half-sung sounds.
It has taken ten years for me to be able to say your name,
or write about you in my endless stream of poetry
But it will be only in the endless death of eternity
that you will live somewhere other than my heart
I pray for a heaven, wanting to have the hope
of holding you on some distant cloud as you
throw stars into the limitless sky