Figures of Thought

You were so young I couldn’t embrace you, small as
you were, there was a man and his belt,
Your hair blonde, shoulder length, the scary man
We could not aptly name

We could not aptly name
The scary man tightening his belt,
We could not presume
To know his name
The fire tip of his cigarette, small flame

Young, oh, you were so old
As not to know the figures in a dream

The moon, in her small stepping
Over ancient beach stones, the fish traps
Are lonely without the sea, without their catch
The people are so few they seem large
And men take young boys aside

Your sun, waiting to show its face
Too bright in its asking for love

And far too wide to hold
Your shoulder length hair, the unnamed man
Hovering behind you
Rising with the tide, a sleeper wave
And the villagers run to greet you
So few, they seem large, not mean,
Spears ready with burning arrow tips

c. Feb 9, 2009 Ruth Nolan