Dark, he was
Like the sun at night’s sky:
Children’s eyes
That saw the bright, red storm,
Red on hills
Gone past homes, washed away,
Gone again.
What was day
When all was gone again?
Strung, aflower,
Faces when children played:
Sand castles,
Washed by wind, made again
Small hands turn
Skies above.
They watch his small struggle;
“Play again,”
says one to him, a look
in and through
his eyes of blue shores still.
Came the waves
Of all colors;
This the day around him:
Green rivers
Around their homes, alive.
Blue saplings
That became of water.
And sand stayed.
9-12-‘11
