Red Shifting

Waving to my son as he drives 

out of the lane

with the first light in his blue eyes

on his blue Element,

and I am standing in the driveway saying good bye

with the mute gestures a heart makes, 

signing love into a dusty air,

like I have done

so many times for sports or proms or college or trips,

but never for his last chemo treatment

he is going to in a city 

an hour away, 

no, never for this

as his hand and mine lift

with the wind in early spring,

light passing between them 

over the distance

that has been red shifting

all along, 

since the length

of the cord was cut 

and we began

orbiting 

one another 

like bright specks

of old rocks;

a long unraveling, spinning

like wheels over the glinting 

stars of stones,

sounding a rough song

against the cold panes of breezes

passing between us

like scarves of glass

until you are gone.