On Gardens and Walls

Sometimes I can almost see him building his wall
He turns around and for a moment we aren't there and a stone thuds to the earth.
Unfathomable tears splash through our well-intentioned fingers and mortar the cracks. 
The impact of a sudden loss tamps the footing deep below the frostline of the ground. 
All I can do is rain down kisses onto the wild gardens of his heart
so vines and flowers outgrow the concrete fortresses,
shine down sunlight from my eyes to entice the treetops over the parapets,
hold him tight until he drifts and dreams of flitting robins who pluck glistering keys from holes in the darkest soil.
This is my prayer upon a field of a thousand greying dandelion heads:
Instead of walls from intruders, may he be blessed with plenty to share.
May he have the strength to stay soft.
May those stones build wells,
those tears cascade life through the forests,
the losses forge a young man
with compassion in his heart and sunshine enough
for the next lost little soul