Staring
His angelic face in the sunlight
The last drops of summer strolling down his chin
I wipe away the evidence

Oblivious
Pushing a lone black seed
No care that the fruit is now gone
He is content in the movement

Burdened
My mind is absorbed
So many tasks yet incomplete, worries,
As I guide boy and bicycle

Carefree
Noticing only the blade of grass
He twirls among his fingers while he hums
Keeping tune with the tires and wind

Distressed
He has sniffed the air
Crying loudly as though injured by the scent
Tears, mine, unable to comfort from mysterious smells

Unconscious
He silently grabs its one amber leaf
Unlike me, he cares only about its texture
Not the voices or stares from the moving windows behind us

Knowledge
Doctors and masters have labeled
So many efforts to make him see the world
Perhaps he inspects and embraces what we merely see

Bliss
A tree branch barely highlighted by autumn flaps and waves
His hands mimic unconventionally
Seeing what I do not, he shrieks in pleasure

Succumb
I stroke his hair before he can move away
Opening myself to feel the last whispers of summer
Glimpsing clarity in the nearly invisible details