Because his small hand fits into my palm still,I hold my breath and feel the gills of my heart pummel inside my chest.
There is no way for keeping this; like stacking bags of sand against the jetty, crumbling no way to keep back his tide of growing up.
“I’m you’re a little bit big boy,†he whispers against my cheek in the dark then moon gets caught in the branches on the hill
and I’m begging that this filament these slender fish bones of love and the flotsam of our days will keep us when he is taller than my head,
and turns to walk the other way.