I think the moonlight brought me back. Held under,
The ripples kept me jealously: brought to me
Precious forgotten things, as gentle leaves,
Silver swimmers. But this cold, dark praise
Was sleeping comfort: silt between my hands,
Pouring through my icy fingers. At last
A higher tide ascended, brought me out
White as death, now sleepless on the surface,
Looking up to an eyeful of widening moon.
My first sigh was a lungful of water, my first
Word a kiss goodbye to the sorrowed sea.
My first breath was a cloud of paling air.
Yes: it was the moonlight, brought me there.
The European refugee crisis hasn’t disappeared. It is estimated that last year three thousand forced migrants drowned in the Mediterranean, crossing in the hope of landing to our safe, uncaring shores. The only generosity they will see, is what the water offers them.