The moment I turned a corner
into a quiet side street
in an unfamiliar city
I ran into the realization
that you had died
exactly nine years ago today,
which led me to envision
a baby who was born
on the same day you died
a boy who would
grow up but always
be the same age as your death
and whose birthday parties
under a tree on a lawn
would be secret memorials to you,
our own imaginary boy
like a breathing statue
in a hidden corner of a park.
This I decided as I leaned
my bicycle against a tree
somewhere in Philadelphia.