the thankfulness Sabbath

On days like this one,

sixty degrees, mare's tail cloud

in a blue sky reflected silver

in the broad expanse of river below,

we sit, the king and I, observing.

The small son crawling behind

our chairs which are minimalist thrones

metal and new plastic, durable

deck furniture placidly waiting

empty until the tourists come.

We, the rulers of a minute kingdom,

watch our offspring on hands and knees

safe between concrete wall and railing,

and he watches us, playing peek-a-boo

and racing away at turtle-speed 

that we might pursue and overtake,

capture him, throw him in the air

reclaim the liberty we offered in joy

of watching, to see what he would do.

We sit, the king and I, under blue sky,

viewing the silver tidal river

on the deck of the new museum,

coffee drained from the white cups,

and we rise from our rest, to walk again.