Sitting, 
Twirling my toes
In the dust of the riverbank,
Dirty as the Ganges
My brother says
My plates washed clean.

Children giggling
In the cornfield
Chasing white butterflies
Dancing a jig.
Their mother one of them again
Making up for lost bits.

I squint at the Sun
It has become too hot,
The light too strong,
All white for a second,
I’m gone
Job done.