[they’re in their lord of the flies bag]

Terence says about nested boys
at the mouth of the waterfall

the eyes of the only boy open to the sky, the legs
wrapped around the rock to keep it

alive, afloat, the river flows
him, kissing her just like that, her body

an interruption in the water, the rush
and the roar of his call divided by the fall

dividing it from itself. the other boys
perched around him like water nymphs

looking beyond the hollow of the mountains,
where the sun sets. the boys landed like this

they are part of the earth, the roots take root
around their ankles. yes, in their lordly fly

bag, but a lord of the flies before
it’s dark. before doing what they do

piggy, before splitting up and hunting. savage,
always. boys who jump that high

like trees, cradled in water
with so much love by the rock, the boys who ford

the river in their socks, throwing their shoes
to any soft earth ready to catch. water,

a mother: both healing and scolding, both gentle
and the pressure increases in the fall. shallow

Enough to walk, deep enough to dive, boys
know it, where to set foot

and where not to do it, how to say hello, when
to let her sleep. their big toes scratch

in the foam, wrapping around to keep them stable, the nails
find the hook between the roots to anchor, to pull

their body upwards. the coquís coquís their song.
the sun winking from its setting. everything is green; Nothing

poisoned. alhamdullilah, know the earth
then fine, you can play with it. never question

where your foot lands, how to bring your body
where he wants to go. to be so of, you of.

alhamdullilah, to cradle the fall and not fall.
hear the sound of the river and feel safe. savage.

the boys. in their lord of the flies bag. Yes,
the boys, there, at the top of the waterfall. pulling

crumbs of leaves in each other’s hair. boys:
wild, but not lost. the boys, wild and owned.