The End of Childhood

My daughter is building a path

across the lake.

Each morning she goes out

with an armful of boards

and hammers them

into the ice. Her brother

brings the coffee can

of nails, tucks the hammer

into his belt. The ice is thick,

the path is growing.

We watch them

all day from the railing.

No one else lives

at this end of the valley

though up around the bend

there are lights.

My daughter’s project

is not to reach them,

she tells us, but just

to leave a perfect

track of boards

floating on the water

that first day

the ice has melted.