There is a star of light

in the circle where the treetops join,

we have alternated between you riding your bike

and me pushing you.

We could probably trade places

you are so big now–

but I want to find you the perfect leaf

while I pretend you will not soon be four.

Never has a day passed like this for us;

all of the ants

and grasshoppers;

all of the caterpillars

have timed their crossing of the path just right,

and from the few branches that have already turned

the perfect, yellow, heart-shaped leaf clings to my vision from one of them

as if your name were painted in the pink veins of its buttery form.

You wave the long stem just above the jogging stroller’s parasol

turning it for the pulsing steppe to see

as if it were the emblem of our interim stay.

karenhansonpercy