Have you made any sand castles lately-

with that absurd, red dust that fills up your shoes?

I have stains on my socks from it still,

and pictures of you in my room in an album.

 

I can’t wait until we are on the plane,

‘til the mesa is rising up from the ground

behind the empty house and we’ll see you

tomorrow

with the dry breeze tickling the air

and the morning sun creeping up in the sky.

 

Before we see you, and

two hours before church and

time is still.

We sway on the swings and set

records on the monkey-bars, together

delighting ourselves in the Lord.

 

Soon, I hope, we’ll get to see you

and what of fire ants and sunburns?

We will all just brave them together.

And you can have my whole popsicle

 because I saw you lick it

while I was

velcroing your dusty shoes, silly boy.