separation anxiety

my son can't sleep--
hardwired for eons
to survive by staying
close to mom and dad--
he's realized that night
is the worst time to be alone.

I've stopped keeping track
of this conversation, apologies
proffered out of guilt or grace,

though I've searched for
the perfect phrase to make you
understand, explain my ill-intent,
the reflection we share, the direction
we face.

the constant drag of diplomacy,
the un-winnable, call it a draw, the
chalice and the blade, an old
game of genes and id.

there's a field not far from where
I was born, and in that field,
a stone with my initials, carved one
solitary afternoon hunting arrowheads
among quarter horses and brafords.

all I've set out to do
since--the smallest act,
the cascade of consequence--
no time machine or
instant gratification exists
to resurrect the girl
who trusted happiness
in the form of ever after,
who believed in rescue
from monsters
waiting under a darkened bed.