Man

Like a mountain he comes
to the Valley of the child.

Afterwards ,

Like a river that Comes
but becomes the Child.

Often Man

Finally
your body has come to bloom
but
my small body can still hide you.
Your roughness,the aftereffect of us.
Your wilderness of the tame.
Like a man at a game.
The you in the avogadro movement,
visible only to my eye,
beneath those tendons.

Sometimes I wonder
how different you are :
from a baby,from what you were,
from the growing man and the growing child.
from the growing love and the growing lust.
from pain and from pleasure.

And
sometimes I wonder.
How same the face of your bare,
crawl and clench.
like my clutch tugging at my hair,
Both tuck and the yield there.

And
in this pucker of a man
how same the grace,
of a baby,
of oblivion to find peace only in my embrace.