Sonnet for Arran

Completely unselfconscious, you hold your
Lego storybook tightly in your right
hand. Small fingers turn glossy pages for
hours. Your eyes scan the pictures; short words light

up your face when I read them. Tell me what
passes through your brain. Tell me the crazy
plot lines a six-year-old can invent but
don’t tell me the dark death scenes. I’m hazy

on the precise details of whose side is
whose and what war your ninjas are waging.
Explain again when the dragon snorts his
fire why you don’t flee but seek the aging

sensei to save you. Your smooth skin, like snow,
might vanish in a landscape I don’t know.