Into the Light

Walking him
to the edge of the roof
I can tell so much: his
childhood scent, his
stumble at a whisper
of street noise below,
his eyes wide at the view —

whether he was born to be
dragon or lion, leaper or flyer,
he’s nothing but stone now.

When he falls,
the wind in his ears
explains how he will soon be
relaxed. He will
rest, the hint of a smile
leaving last thought guessed
but unsaid.

We took every step
from first toddle to last drop
together. I loved him once.
I loved him when we chose this.
I love him now most of all

as he is lifted to the back
of the ambulance with no urgency,
sheets tucked in, riding with the sirens on
as he always wanted when he was a child,
racing through the streets like a lion, engine
roaring like a dragon,

and I will be the wind as I go.