Caregiver’s Song

When voices like children
hear themselves in a trickling creek,
I laugh at the wisdom
of their foolishness—
and everything becomes still,
the sun gone down, the moon falling as dew,
my eyes gone black waiting
for my counting off till morning.

Come home, children, home free
before you are caught outside
by dark birds flying their hunger.
The creek sings in children
who laugh again and shout for haven
in the hills that laugh all echoes back.
And I may sleep some night at last,
counting off cold stars past morning.

published in the Hurricane Review

David Anthony Sam