A week before school,
we slipped into the pool,
a round above-ground,
still warm,
my ten-year-old son and I
looking up
at the black sky
as it glimmered.
We followed threads of light
darting and turning inward,
long white tracers dissolving,
one so heavy
it dropped straight down,
and a glowing comet
with a tail of red sparks.
We floated on our backs,
walked in slow circles,
and leaned beside each other on the rail,
my self dissolving again
as when I watched him being born—
how his light was all that mattered.
