Summer after summer
Grace, umber-eyed and lean,
cradles her palsied son
across hot sand
into flying spray and blown spume.
She dips him in the sea
then floats him out
so he can feel the flat slap
of the waves. He smiles at her,
a water lily rooted in mud,
blooming above murky foam.
At the water’s edge
together they listen
to the surf’s orations
and whiff peppery dune pine
‘til the sun begins to sink
as shoals of tiny black fish dart
between their toes in warm shallows.
