Sprinkler

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SPRINKLER



Then deep beneath the soil

propulsion, low gurgle 

as of someone clearing their throat


to speak, squeak, and out sprouts

numberless glimmering angles 

to herald the one, dark water. 


The children are wise 

enough to slip off their sandals

as they babble the bright


excitement, outstretched fingers

grabbing at everything and 

holding nothing as they’re held 


within the fountain by the invisible hands 

of a love which asks nothing

in return, other than that—


once soaked—they let

themselves be changed before 

coming in to the meal prepared.

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