Sunlight, grass, flowers; the world expands.
Stout with purpose he stands
Wobbles, steadies. Then without dramatic
Flair he takes a step. Two, three, four,
Observed not by me (I faced the other way).
He soon repeats the stunt, hands
Grasp air. These legs will bear him
all his life (god willing), through every door
Into the world of men, places
I will never follow [public toilets, his mates’ dark houses, his lovers’ houses of light, the apartment he rents for a month in France, the road flecked with butterflies that he drives down too fast on balmy nights, his honeymoon suite]
Anyway, it is done. Four erratic steps.
Unseen by me, but history made this note.
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