Tuesday First Drafts

Villanelle

This tightrope walk between boy and man

Your rank unknown from my distant shore

You hold my eyes; he took my hand

What rite to pass and how alone?

Leather office chair or college tour

This tightrope walk between boy and man

A gesture, yes, your words, perhaps tone

Will expose your youth, his age, no more

You hold my eyes; he took my hand

Will I see it in her son, my own?

The switch flipped sometime after four

This tightrope walk between boy and man

My son steals my lap, head crown to chin bone,

A locker room, a bedroom door

You hold my eyes; he takes my hand

Now you have found that point to hone

Returned victorious from aging war

This tightrope walk between boy and man

You held my eyes; he took my hand.