The fence around them glimmers dim
as the sun pretends to rest.
They race on the plastic grass.
The boy wins, but sweetly.
He ambles back wheezing,
claiming all was worth the air it took.
Both children were born in the winter:
neither knows quite what to wear
in the autumn,
and neither is dressed appropriately.
The boy is too tall for his middle school clothes
and he appears shrunken
as she tests how close he will let her sit.
In what she can see of the sky,
the west darkens. It is too late
for them to laugh
together at the light.
whether this silence
will last as it should.
Already, she is armored with tenacity
and like his outfit
it does not quite cover her wrists.
Refusing to admit that
this is the only
the two share
will cause her more ruin
than her stomach can handle.
For her there is no incoming light
to wash this singular moment from time.
She will recall the inky field
when she becomes sidewalk stuck
on trying to consume his secrets.
She will stiffen her fingers
no matter or energy can be lost.