These miracles, so bright I cover my eyes;
they bound, glide, skip before me and beside.
She rides his old training bike with eyes halfway closed;
he jukes and zags in front as she laughs from her toes,
and the little girl plays “touch each stone” along the way;
then it’s “touch the shoulder” when she finds me out of place.
Baby boy plays at cars, trucks, and tractors,
making their noise, making laughter.
The air moves and settles differently tonight;
it is the autumn coming, the new slant of light.
Ah, this wind, sweet-covered in leaf and seed-pod;
these miracles, rain-bursts of exhausting love.
They are four together and apart
sparkling each with their own purpose, their hearts
beating sorrowful now and again, though joy comes down with storms,
growing hurts, but this light hurts more.