Jackie is a hundred miles north
in rain storms,
in the home of ancestors,
among cousins and grandparents,
a brocade of hearts,
gold dragons.
I see him,
stay with him,
in some cavern of mystery
I find my tiger,
little empire,
hill where a small bird goes,
stepping across a carpet,
a sea filling up with rain.
Books are by my chair
ready to be read,
toys piled in his box.
I wait like an empty branch,
like a roof waiting for sky,
like a window needing a face.
In a few days Jackie will return
rattling the gate,
going room to room,
everything being as it was.
And I will hold him,
telling him he was missed,
then put him down
to small boy things.
Silence needs laughter.
Forever was a week.
Happiness comes home.