grounded

sometimes
I get into a frenzy
of making things work
with rules,
with ideas captured
and struggling,
like helpless fish
in these wires
of space and time,
with my son,
who brings me
the seasons in moments,
of life's uncertain ways,
where what was written in stone
in the breath
of the morning sky,
is whisked away
into the setting sun,
always melting
into its love
of the earth
I can never see
from where I stand,
grounded in this
ever-shifting
ground.