It is as though he just figured out
his peripheral vision
gorging on so much
newness
his little body
finally a tool
he can deploy
to run
to grab
his feet find the grass
lumpy winter patches
he tears out a clump
of haggard blades
holds them tenderly
possessively
I feel for the grass
so unloved at this time of year
I want to warn it
you are only one stop
on his race to know
everything
and so it goes
the dried earth falls from his hand
as he reaches for me
up
up
there are birds
and clouds
to revere.