The hat drops over his ears, bill straight, uncurved, a slight angle to the side though not yet the full teen rake. He’s turning twelve

By day the light upon water is brilliant and bright, securing the outlines of what is safe and real. by night, now shimmering the moon

The sound of your voice lifts the autumn wind, a golden light quickening, as the almost dead rise from their obsession into dew-soaked grass, trembling