he is not a kite: just a boy with autism

          as i watch

          him walk

          away, i

          want to

          follow

          i want

          to view

          what he

          views. see

          if he falls,

          or steps in

          an ant pile

          disturbing

          the peace of

          God's odd

          creations

he loves to open up their homes
loves the snails even more as he
pops each  off  the curb after it
rains i say no more. he balks at
me. i frown on the outside, smile
inward. he knows i smile so he
pops each off but puts them in
grass to appease me. he steps
on another ant pile. he runs. he
knows i'm proud: to others at
times like this:  he is like a run
of a mill little boy: yet we both

          understand

          he is not.

          he makes

          sure i am

          there. i

          make sure

          i am there.

          exhausted

          in justified

          awe: i love

          my own

          creation.

          he walks

          before me

          time extends

          i must let him