AFTERIMAGE

He used to swim, that boy of mine,
romancing the impending night:
heedless of the compound fright
his fearlessness to me consigned.

In twilight yet, he used to dive
and dared the world to injure him
as he leapt into the dim
deep waters there. He used to thrive.

Now as I sit on old pontoon,
working old half-hitches free,
closed parasols stand silently
as soft I hum a mournful tune.