I keep them frozen in the moment of joy,
soaring through southern summer heat
with squeals and laughter that only linger
in tender youth. Their toes point like dancers,
hands reach skyward – up, up, up –
it’s all out there for them to seize,
a sky of possibilities, where each will find
her own blue, create her clouds.
Time may move, but I keep them here, safe,
in this place, where their summer days at the lake
pass gently, with joy and promise. As long as I
hold them here, in a golden frame,
they shall never be swallowed up
by the dark, cold waters beneath them.
Talking to the Clouds 