Boy with a Flute

Ankles in sand,
goats nose the salt air,
bells stumble against
the thin breath of reed.

A woman wheels past—
hair a sudden banner,
refusal swift as wind.
The goats turn too.

Desire rehearses itself:
first glance,
first quickening,
beauty always ahead.

Still he plays,
as if breath could bind
what wheels carry away.

Sea steady,
trail empty,
music lingering—
a claim on what recedes.

.