Poems for Gideon: Cups

You come swaying, as if a song
were humming through the freshly swept
oak floors beneath your innocent feet.
Your smile knows no reticence
when you sense the rushing waters.
Pushing your elbows on the tub's edge,
short legs and short laughs,
joyously struggling
to swing one short leg up over the side.
You want colander cups
to drain the warmth and spread its stream
over your shakingly bowed head,
twittering with each giggle and splash
in your careless eyes.
Like nature's rains rinsing winter off,
or the cleansing fling of hyssop,
yet drops find few fragments of dust,
no remnants of lust or other deformation.
Still, my son, seek the freshness
that is always pouring forth in creation.