My daughter attempts the scaly grey sides
of the Pecan tree again - little legs
like pistons without purchase;
nothing to push against or grip
and eventually her arms fail -
she comes crashing down
with a smile wreathed in the
secret knowledge that one day,
________________________________one day soon
she will shout Look at me!
and I will look up to her - up at her
see bliss
dancing intricate patterns
about her face and trembling limbs,
my applause like a cascade
of unsaid wishes, proud exclamations
that echo and flurry as if
the wind is speaking
to a bird.
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