“And the Lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling” 

                                                     Rumi

There were seventy-five things
                I might have done different:

Shoes on wrong feet
grabbed the other coat
turned it over
let blood.

Precision in brushing,
one, two, three.

Split the pot
lucky sox
spit in the wind
cursed.

Stayed close to home
stepped on cracks --
touched each light switch
took my time
fast.

I thought the danger passed,
too late to paint the lintel,
blow the trumpet,
lock the door. Cry.

Cry -- I would have cried.
I would have begged,
made promises
lied.

I didn’t know and a child was born,
a child was born and a child was taken
halfway to heaven but caught behind glass. 
He might live there with Jesus but
              he’s barely here with us.

He missed the mark,
an arrow to the doorway,
to the channel,
the path.
He can’t cross over. 
He might not want to.

What do we know of the inner lives of whales?
  Who they love, what they long for, 
             what they need, or remember? 
Totem signals groan nothing that our ears perceive
No flash from ebony eye speaks of yesterday’s doings.

It’s like that with Jaden but this:
He laughs.
Of all compensation for suffering this is the finest:
He laughs,
delighted
agog with joy
ecstatically happy --
                like a Sufi or a Shaker.

Six years old:  Jaden, its grandma. Jaden? 
He is puzzled,
   picks up something through the waters
   some groaning signal,
   cocks his head, then, he skitters, out of reach, in waters
        I can’t fathom.

I stroke his cheek,
he turns away,
turns back to kiss,
mouth slack,
like a baby.

Seventy-five charms I could have worked,
         prayers and potions, too,
to sink a bargain,
        I’d offer my eyes,
to bring this baby back.

I pray to dead relatives, propose to the dying,
         will you help him from there, if you can?

The wise dead reply --
         Is Jaden still laughing?
         Is he still laughing?
         If Jaden is laughing,
         Jaden is fine. 

Jaden is laughing.
Jaden is laughing.
Jaden is laughing and
Jaden is fine.

Maybe we could accept this sad distance with more ease
                        if he did not find it all so funny,
                        if he were not so mysteriously
                        so constantly, so recklessly
                        amused.