Water Child

Water Child

for a day or two he was lost and wandering,
a mote of dust in a dark vacuum,

for a while, i was a fish floundering for air,
a speck of nothing at all, and so

we marched, heads bowed and lolling
laid our griefs at the feet

of Mizuko Jizō, folded our water child
in the Buddha’s gaping sleeves,

palm to palm, we fell in to a cherry
blossom haze, slept the sleep of the dead.