By the lake, you and I
inhabit our own worlds.
Yours is bounded by the water and sand,
full of mud, sticks, bugs, driftwood.
Mine between the pages of my book.
I watch you thrill and squeal,
then calm and inspect
what plants look like underwater
and how deep the mud goes,
your hands and feet, your only tools.
I am reading about being present
in every moment of my day
and so I put my book down
for awhile, just to watch you poke, explore,
and find your own way along the beach.
You ask, Can you see me?
over and over, because I told you,
Stay where I can see you.
And it reminds me again and again
that you long to be seen.
You became a part of that lake yesterday
while I only visited.
My distaste for sand and messes
kept me apart from the place,
But you inhabited it fully, and I loved watching you.