Twirling, running, climbing, leaping, laughing,
a gleaming celebration of life is this small boy,
illuminating a strip mall parking lot
with pulsing energy.

The parents nearby chat amiably with friends,
seemingly indifferent to his arc
until he crosses an invisible line
only they can pinpoint.
They call his name,
catch his eye,
snatch a handful of collar
or armful of torso,
change his trajectory,
redirect his momentum,
slow his charge
momentarily.
Seconds later he whirls away,
reestablishes orbit.
His force cannot be contained.

Shadow Stone Thunderstorm he calls himself,
a superhero’s name,
his arms thrust outward
as he spins off again in flight.
Night absorbs his shadow,
fireflies flicker in his wake,
and he bursts from the darkness,
leaps into his father’s ready arms,
and plummets into sleep.