Tinker Cliff

Your sister lay on my lap

after we climbed the plateau.

She is sturdy but tired and

your flask hovers over her lips.

Your eyes are a deep, deep pond today,

searching the western horizon for clouds.

I stroke her hair as you once stroked mine

and her pale eyelids flutter with dreams.

The light is all shades of pink and

this is the type of place we would have danced.

I stop searching your face for comfort

and I whisper to your sister on my lap.

Don’t you know, little girl?

Your yes to one adventure

is a no to another.