Go Down to the Pond

in memory of Mason

To find a small boy in love –
with frogs that pop before his toes,
clouds beneath his chin,
or a thousand dizzy rushes along his arms
he cannot say
(this & many trivial things).
Mother grips his arm, keeps him
from spinning like a water bug,
squirming away
to learn to walk on water.

Today, the boy bypasses deadbolts,
bursts through the window screen.
Go to the pond! mother begs,
but police will not rest
until they search round & round
the empty house.

Mother races to the pond,
breathless, heaving.
There, a hint of pink, soft as paper –
her son face down,
deeply breathing in
the upside-down sky.