I.

When heat and hurry wash over me
in waves so huge
I may be lost forever,
I hear,
"Chuck Man! Chuck Man! Is that you? Where you been? Can I
come in your house? Would you dig me one 'a them carrots? Can we pick tomatoes? When are we gonna go fishin'? Let's get some
worms . . . ,"
and tearin' across the yard like some renegade locomotive,
he comes to build, just for us,
a place of words and more words,
a thousand answerless questions,
a shore so calm and cool
that I would rest here foreverafter if only I could.

II.

A sideways movement,
a little touch,
so soft,
on the outside surface of my right leg,
and then he is in my arms,
easing himself into the hollow place
between my neck and shoulder
like some small creature,
filling me with the wonder of how he,
this tiny child,
can make the world
so still, so full, so deep
that I am rescued there
and made whole once more.

III.

Walking across the floor of the room downstairs
where children run and play,
I feel the smooth slide of a tiny hand
across my fingers,
up my palm,
to rest,
as though it had come across its whole life
to reach me here,
in this place,
as though the hollow of my hand
had held all that it has ever held
to ready itself
for this moment.

IV.

So like these little boys
must we come,
as children to give,
as children to receive,
by one's and two's and all at once,
each to each,
bearing what is most precious before us
in the glory and the grace of God,
teaching and learning,
again and again,
that all these little things matter,
that only these little things matter,
that they are the big things.