For Vija

Soft childrubbing on my cheekbed childcomforting my sleepwith curling toeacross my chest. Wild childgrowing to confusionreaching out for handsthat turn the cornerwhere the swallows  play,open mouths for feedingtwo short months for breedinglong inaugural flighta sunlit winterthe same family returningto my enquiring eyes. The pattern is so simpleyet I crack my head on concreterack the leaves left after teatry to find the words to find youin this play I haven’t written,for the soft child captured in my heartstringshow we used to beas close as swallows& as sunlit as the sea.