A babysitter is asleep,
angled in a corner of the sharp
iron bench. The baby is quiet,
asleep in the direct sunlight.
How shall we find our way in-
to this moment which stands between
us and a remembered future?
It is speaking, the water,
telling over each detail
with a retreating chuckle of gravel.
Loneliness is not appeased,
but the water is speaking, at least.
We will follow the glance of the water.