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.