for Heather and Jessica

In October’s early morning chill,
before yellow jackets warm and venture
from gaps between cornice and brick,
I scoop debris from the hanging gutters—
death-smell of dew-wet duff, body
armor of summer beetles, spider lint.

From the high ladder, I watch
my children in knit and denim,
fall into piles of poplar and oak leaves, 
with a brittle crushing of hard candy 
and they lie skyward with the abandon
they will someday leave there.

After I work downspout to downspout, 
they invite me into their joyful play.
They already know that snow will fill
these same gutters soon enough
and laugh at that cleverness.
They will know too, the world’s reprieve.
                        

	for Steve and Madeleine

Rain at the beach means grumpy children.
	Madeleine dumps the box with a shuffle.
Bright crabs peek from the sand-colored back sides.
	She calls them to the table as if for a birthday party.
No one questions that two thousand pieces
	will make something of themselves.
Only Steve, with heretical tease,
	studies the pictured object of their art, 
the surety of their adventure.

Enthusiastic adults coax from sulky kids
	a logic of line, flat edges odd
among the unknowns they must paint by eye.
	Like shore birds jogging tides,
they divide those abstract innies/outies—
	the quotients of a whole life
are piled— dunes laced with sea oats,
	blues of blue, pastels of rental cottages.
They try the sense of them, work the GPS of hues,
	celebrate each match like an epiphany.
 
Restless kids ask how far it is,  			
	each piece of time falling into its proper place, 
reducing the challenge of patience.
	Houses are from a postcard’s point of view,
are strict geometries which differ
	only by decks, dormers, and lunettes. 
They are toy blocks castled on shifting sands. 
	The puzzle offers a beach parable—			
only by skill can chance be made useful.
	No wonder it seldom rains in picture puzzles.
The honor of the last piece, like a birthday wish,
	goes to the youngest, completing the window 
of one tiny cottage. They see a family, gathered around a table. 
	A lighthouse up the beach
	stands ready for bedtime.