A poem for the pandemic
Caregiver’s Song When voices like children hear themselves in a trickling creek, I laugh at the wisdom of their foolishness— and everything becomes still, the sun gone down, the moon falling as dew, my eyes gone black waiting for my counting off till morning. Come home, children, home free before you are caught outside by dark birds flying their hunger. The creek sings in children who laugh again and shout for haven in the hills that laugh all echoes back. And I may sleep some night at last, counting off cold stars past morning. published in the Hurricane Review David Anthony Sam