Quicksilver

I did what a child dares,

threw a thermometer on bathroom tile

to scatter mercury,

then with the tip of a finger

tapped the droplets into a kindred pool.

I see myself in each of my children.

Where are we headed? I want to know.

Not that I'm afraid of turns

or unmarked routes-

it's the going too fast.

Watch out! I caution,

stepping into space from library stairs,

a load of self-help books in my arms.

A man crosses the street to help me up.

We exchange numbers and names

before falling back to our ways,

odds and ends left jingling

in the pocket of the other's life.

Quicksilver-sometime messenger,

sometime thief:

Rummaging through the attic,

the children find a violin

that belonged to my father.

I draw the bow across strings,

and we take turns pulling out sound,

notes flying off spiritus mercurius.

Talk scatters between us,

until time to go.

Goodbye, they wave, and drive off,

the risk of mishap carried along.

Possibilities too-the alchemy of love

returning its vapors transformed:

a look, a voice, a touch,