The sun, smashed on
the river, makes a million smithereens.
I lie face down on
the bank, make a bowl of my hands and scoop
them up, as I would a
shoal of minnows. Then, inspecting
my treasure, I find no diamonds, just a dwindling pool of water.
I shake my hands dry,
and promise myself,
“one day, Michael, you
will own a house beside water.”
