Game with a Mad Bounce

The child and I are kicking
a pebble down the road–

the child is Gautama
the pebble is Saint Theresa
and I’m no one: or

we are both Gramsci
the road is Maimonides
and you are no one: or

the child counts steps to Frogurt
I’m an old man with cancer
the pebble is no one and

no one loves us so

it’s raining in the White Mountains

but here just the pang of wood smoke-–

here joy and sorrow
are a fence and a lit window–-

here God’s silence
is the silence of a cricket.