On Confusing Your Names

They come out wrong.
The names collide, tumble,
turn somersaults:
son, grandson, daughter, granddaughter.
My tongue trips trying to define you.

Listeners laugh when I call you
by another’s name, but the proof
is in the pudding.  There is
no then and now, no you and you.
We live it all again,
have never stopped living it,
all of us joined together
in time, which is love.