Colommenod

I felt you roll beneath my boot
a pause; a turn,
I looked back at you,
and saw your face upon the flags,
just your face,
mess that it was, sopping wet,
with bulbous lids sealed over the orange burn of your eyes,
and your throat was hanging open,
a splash of colour upon that grey town waste,
body gone…

What happened to you, little one?