And he is everywhere but where he should be,
Images of his poor kid-body washed up on the beach like seaweed
seared across our screens.
There’s something familiar
about the way he lies,
face down on his stomach,
like my four year old lost in a spontaneous afternoon nap
Our kids like to play in the shallows,
While we stand at water’s edge and say ‘don’t go too far, it could be dangerous,’
Our feet planted safe in home sand.
His parents only wanted to make it whole to shore,
Going far because the only way open was the wrong way.
And all the sandcastles fall in heaps, and all the shells graze our feet,
And tides turn away in horror
At what happens when we fail to act
As we should.