Alex Again

He smiles often, and warmly, and though his

Words are still too few for his age, many

Are the expressions he has to choose from.

The house is large, and his small feet patter

Quickly across the cool, broad, white tile floors.

This is his new home. He forgets the old.

There is no small dog to watch at this house,

But daily he watches the slow parade

Of black ducks through the yard to the canal.

There are no squirrels here, no wild cherry trees,

Only tall royal palm and coconut,

And small hovering birds, flying jewels.

Beside the house there is a large blue hole

Where father takes him to dip in water

That sparkles in the bright tropical sun.

He is happy here, and is the master

Of small lizards and giant dragonflies

That scatter as he walks down the pathway.

He sits outside in a red plastic chair,

Arms filled with stolen hibiscus blossoms

And cannot yet wonder what life holds next.

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