For Kyle, Almost Two

We dance together, then he whirls solo,
each turn a fresh risk till he falls…
His look tells me it was worth the confusion.
In calmer moods, he is a creature inside
an underwater cave, his gaze concentrating
vast expanses of crystalline blue.
There is much he knows but doesn't understand.
It seems no force on earth can stop him
learning what the world is like. Helpless,
we teach him trust, when to say yes or no.
He plays everything back to us, as he receives
he gives. "He keeps learning new words,'
we say. "Words…' — his echo imprints the air,
setting a seal on the process. He holds
my finger in his fist and points to shapes
in his book: "ship', "river', "tree',
I tell him. He contemplates, turns the page.
Legend enters. We hear he has lifted
a basket of wood and worry about his health:
his stamina seems dangerous. For his part,
he enjoys omnipotence, though it does tire:
he will walk into an adoring room able to summon
only a regal lift of an arm, acknowledging
our greetings from afar. His thoughts
are still outside with the mess he is building
with bucket and hose and sand, or with the cat
which he loves ecstatically, and tortures.
I see him running down the long yard in the gold
of summer, testing himself against its strength —
against its pitilessness, he would stand no chance.
Otherwise, may only bees in the grass offer any threat,
and those endless falls from which he rises
to climb further and further into the world.