a little boy
nut-brown boy
the softest shell
haunched on crusted rock
dandled by hot barnacled air
and lulled by the slurp of the sea

he weaves tomorrow’s havens
with the dip of a net on a stick
into the glittering aequorial quiet
a caress of lilliput gossamer fronds
leaving trails in his mind that will
guide his way home
when he needs

and the dawn comes easily as waking
an inkling of light on the long soft road from the dark
that draws the conscience from its slumber
with a gradual new awareness for patient eyes.
a bark, echoes, sharp as a blade
cutting through the frosted veil
a first voice calling against the hunger of silence
and a need to know there are others waiting to hear
survivors from the long step of night
whose departing disquiet leaves its sweat
to bead and glisten on bedazzled hedgerows
droplets of reparation mirroring the stars
that lay at the feet of the first to stretch and stir
a freshly carpeted chill of renewal