One day, he’ll be gone
suddenly
like when your child has a cough
that annoys you at the breakfast table
day after day
and then you realize it’s gone,
though your child is still here, of course,
one of two children you nevertheless persisted
to create,
not knowing what a world this would be
and nevertheless persist to be glad of,
even now,
even knowing.
One day, he’ll be gone
but my children will still be here,
and yours, and you,
and I.
Promise me what no one can promise:
Promise me it’s true.