We play catch
on the patio.

Mourning doves lift off
from the shrubbery with a clatter

like rattles shaken
over a happy baby's crib

and the baby's
chortling answer.

I am three again.
Or is he three?

I have to aim care-
fully. Allez-oop!

WHOOPS.
I cavort for two.

Bird of Paradise
spreads stiff wings

in the locked garden.