Water Sprite

My son jumps
into the deep end,
goes straight down:
I resist my need
to reach for him,
let him bring himself
to the top.
Water glazes
his brown face,
his smile is broader
than before he leapt.
Through watery myopia,
he grabs
my hungry hands,
and breathes at last:
a hearty sigh.
“I want to do it again, Momma,”
he says,
once again buoyant,
out of my reach.
My eyes brim,
nothing pleases
and terrifies
me more than
the fresh bravery
of his new love:
water.