and the day opens its white eye
to a cracked and ruined earth
All is used and dust
and he walks on stones
to sup the old ones
breathing still
Born there when leaves
moved one breezy spring
and nothing now but voices
of children laughing
before their brief lives
A boy walking with water
under the killing sun
Posts aslant in the hard clay
and the dying left to rest
in the thin shade
that moves without them
A boy walking with water
to drizzle a measure to wooden tongues
A boy walking with water
until the night sounds
takes them home
A boy walking with water
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