Swimming with Jellyfish

Even though you've left home
and probably don't remember,
I can't take the two steps down
to the back door--the stone steps
I set in concrete one summer
and called you to leave your handprint--
without seeing you sprinting
in your dress, white shoes,
blonde hair full of speed,
me thinking the steps and your legs
would miss each other and you falling,
falling through the years to smack
your forehead again on the bluntness
of the doorstep and always, too late,
me running towards you.

This second collec...