Going for a Fall

I sometimes cry when I see photos of my daughter,

Hair a tumble of golden locks at two,

The first time she ever stopped running

Staring down at her first pair of shoes.

Now what do you expect me to do?



Before that we would take her for our walks,

Packed up on my back she would pat my happy head

Until the sway of my stride would loosen her lock on awake;

Her body blissfully slooped in the trust

That there was nothing more natural than to be a two year old giant

Dreaming of the hills dividing before her huge steps



Knowing that no men can stand colossus for ever

I sometimes think she deserves better, she should always know

There is a man whose frame is iron, whose back is unbreakable;

Convinced his strength will hold her massive in the sky forever.

But as two turns to twelve the stride shortens a foot slower and the sky declines,

And dreams? The unconscious ecstasy of a trance like man.



But to watch her know is a garland not all fathers hold.

My own is immortal under the sun,

Flesh muscled, massive stature, though he died alone.