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fyn gula
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Collected in his pocket, bound upon his wrist, the ring on his finger, vestiges of a life he once knew.
touch the turquoise and caress the copper, remember warm sunlight and brown skin, little children with ivory white smiles laughing because he was American.
he knew nothing of Ecuador, nothing of a world far away, until he opened his mouth and they heard a bird sing.
When you opened your box of treasure, they forgot to listen for the school bell, and lingered, stealing your lunch until they were hungry, eating words and drinking love.
they would have went home but they found they were already there.
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000207
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