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. |