Coming, Going

You want to paint a cartoon childhood:
let a Disney shaft of light
illuminate a small boy’s face –
cutting it obliquely into staged surprise –
lending it a sweet and storied grace –

but look again into those
frightened and embarrassed eyes:
you haven’t penetrated the disguise –
can’t know what’s flitting through another
head, however young: chances are

it’s not untouched by dread; chances are
it dwells among the terrors of unknowing.
Not that something isn’t glowing.
But who knows what’s around, behind,
above, below it – coming, going.

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