Taio Cruz sings through the speakers
about lighting up this world like it’s
dynamite and though I can smell
someone grilling onions nearby and hear
the bright clink as waiters set plates
on tables, I am also dancing with my boy
in our living room fifteen years ago, Taio
blasting through the speakers, our hands
in the air as we sing, “We can go all night,”
and I’m looking at the shimmer
of the sun on the water and my son and I
are holding hands and spinning
and the geese are honking, a sharp
strangled sound, and my son and I
are chasing each other around the couch
and when the song changes to some
other tune I don’t know, my boy still here,
with me, dancing inside this moment
where the geese are now quiet, swimming
across the water, the wake behind them
disappearing. Some trails disappear.
Some are alive within us forever.