For Moaz Hani Mohammed Al-Aidi, Age 0

 


Water will collect in the nasturtiums’

Cup, broad leaves swaying top-heavy

In mounting breeze. Funneled to center,

It forms one clear round jewel, refracted light,

Prismatic, seeming solid. Only

The wind to spur its spilling or sun

To spell its end. 

On a ridgeline behind Panguingue

Creek years ago we awakened with five wolves

Surrounding us. A moose limped in a furrowed 

Creek & we were the accident in the circumference of 

The hunt. 

  Years prior we saw them, the wolves,

Braiding between each other on the East

Fork, accelerating toward a goal we could

Not see. The banks lined with cottonwood

& nursed by fallen log, current-riven bone

& shell. Theropod footprints in the washes. 

Sun, rain, clip of moon. & again. 

The world

Entire born of explosion. & yours ended

Abruptly in the same cacophonies. There are whims

Carving out their import, calling for carriage. 

We forget we are histories. 

  My son’s face erupts 

Into sudden smiling. 

      I would bear-swipe the clouds

Each time a plane ripped through. 

It would do nothing. Bombs cleave distances. Time not ours 

To take. Nor life. Moaz, I sing your name.


Comments

Anonymous said…
This is beautiful. Thank you.
July 2, 2025 at 8:05 AM
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