The Day the Syrian Child Washed Ashore
the early light flushed
my lover’s face, and we ate late strawberries
with breakfast. The changeable day
rolled mist along the inlet,
then channeled sun
stitched by kingfishers.
We breathed so easily,
prowled a bookstore,
later worked at heaped desks
in aimiable solitude
chopped herbs to roast with chicken
while the sky faded
while Palestrina webbed the air
while the shushing tide brought him in
shoes still snug on his small feet.