when your friend holds the hose
(giggling at the portable rainbow)
and waves it innocently in your face,
you
     spring back,
and the mist on your cheeks goes salty.

that same day, on the front porch,
in the triangle of Daddy’s lap,
you stare down the rain,
search out every lightning claw,
relish the quaking earth.
you are unafraid, and
time falls,
     forward.