I like it best when the memories are everywhere—
and I stumble over the ghosts of wooden train tracks,
trip on the spot where you used to do push-ups
Lilt is the name of the woman you want to be—
someone who pumps her feet like a child on a swing set
and laughs and laughs and laughs into the sky.
Here are my two sons in 1968
In their father’s arms.
He looks harmless.
They look doubtful and uneasy.
Nature is the master here: boundless, unpredictable,
full of astonishments. The children come next. I follow.
in his gentlest voice, reminding them
about change, about fallow fields and the quiet
everything needs to grow stronger