In Four hours, you turn four.
A leaf floats down the river
bobbing past now in perfect sight
and the water rushes past.
I try to freeze this great river with my mind
to hold it still long enough to really see
this little leaf
through this great expanse.
Every morning I lift you from bed
and carry you
like a baby
down the stairs.
Every morning you are heavier.
and every night too.
But last night, I held my three year old for the
very last time.
Etched you again into my heart
the smile and little fingers and singsong sounds
and like that we kissed goodbye.
and now we bob together
down this great river
through the everchanging blur of time.
You alone, my Keet, in focus.