Giving his all

Because, this season – spooky,
fraught with dust
and cold and salt
leaves adults as much as children to its
very elements – biting.

Because since he's arrived, four weeks now,
dog-tired too, hoping to find his lost mother
on every berthing ship, he survives on liquid hope.
Never on solid grub.

Because he's seen many arrive,
bristling with evanescent hope,
yet starved of water and strength
a boy, eight, fills his bucket,half,
with corn gruel, looking to give first comers.

Because this boy knows nothing of seasons,
knows nothing of mass deaths on high sea
knows at least, to live is to see others sigh,
to watch them chomp, gulp in gratitude
for whatever offering they could appropriate.