Growing Up



Her tiny hand's outstretched aria
serenades the stars,
she gives and receives,
simplicity her salvation.



She is uncluttered, her mind
a free-fall of delight, she drops
into the wide arms of knowing
softly, without fear.



An irretrievable space
opens between us –
she drifts unwittingly away –
we grip the edge, unable to follow.



Come back! Come back!
Our voices grow small, float
across bleak distances –
far, far ahead, she cannot hear.

Umbrella Head​