my borrowed boy

My Borrowed Boy
One day I looked at you,
and the boy stepped aside.
Soft skin yielded to stubble,
puny arms discovered their weight,
and once-tiny toes grew brave and broad.
Your legs lengthened—fixed, grounded
until you rose quietly,
three inches above my crown,
as if I hadn’t noticed
the nights doing the heavy lifting.
How did I make this man?
This almost-stranger
who carries my eyes
while standing in his own tomorrow.
I blinked.
That was the cost—one blink.
And where my boy had been,
a man stood,
leaning into the world.