My son builds rockets
of plastic bottles, water,
and air. They climb
on physics, action followed
by equal reaction, within
the wish that at the apex
they deploy a parachute
to float into distances,
the achievement in how long
they live on the breeze.
Many fail and fall as quickly
as they climbed, to stop
suddenly at his feet
where he picks them up
to try again. So much time
for failure, he proceeds
undaunted to the next
attempt. I wonder where
he stores disappointment.
When I would long before
move on to something new
to seek success, he goes on
to another try. I pass
my time on to him,
while the gentle wind
plays idly in his hair.
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