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PINK WATER
and in the bath swims my honey boy,
his as yet unwashed hair tousled
around the cherub face of an angel.
little toes and fingers wrinkled pink
as he thrashes in the water
to make an ever bigger splash.
because this drenching quenching splash
is not the tidal displacement of my boy
but a whale or a fish or a shark, living water,
where bladderwrack and seaweed are tousled
fronds among fishes silver, blue and pink.
flashes of tiny life from devil to angel.
for in this seaworld my young angel
is prince of his sandcastle and may splash
as the fish flash silver, blue and pink
as they dart around my boy.
for in this seaworld there is not tousled
danger in the weedbeds of the dark water.
no transluscent forms in his water
to bring fear to his soul of an angel.
he does not see the world tousled
with dread or indifferent to the splash
of hope and spirit of my boy.
he begins his journey fresh and pink.
a wrinkled, joyous, carefree pink
thrashing in his seacave water
threading through coral like a marine boy
on the fin-like wings of an angel
in a turmoil of thrash and splash
with hope and spirit never tousled
as our lives have become tousled
and slowly turned to grey from pink.
for this is his time to splash
and share his space in water
brought alive, as if by an angel,
to nurture the essence of being a boy.
for, all tousled together, in water
turned pink by the light of my angel,
resound the splashes of every boy
structure of the sestina
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