Day 367

In the dark early morning, a child
sits by himself on a pile of stones.
He has only one hand, and he is throwing
a ball up into the air and catching it.
Over and over he throws the ball.
Sometimes it rolls away.  Sometimes
it lands perfectly, right in his palm.
It’s not easy to see before full daylight comes,
but he’s found the ball the night before
and could barely sleep, so excited
he’s been to practice catching.  The boy
has no parents, no siblings, no aunts 
or uncles or grandparents.  He could throw
the ball in the air one time for everyone
he has lost, and he’d be there
an hour.  More.  What he has
is one hand and a ball.  What he has
is a morning that begins to grow
a little brighter.