Apples and Eyes

I follow my son
for hours.

We talk.
He walks.

Me, tortoise.
He, hare.

Sprint sprint
stop pick a flower

sprint fall up sprint
rock stick. 

I see the sidewalk
as a long exposure

cracked lightning
steel covers and grates

pearl flower petals.
If attention were a muscle

I would be doubled up 
cramped, pain-blind

by the end
of every hour.