At Water’s Edge Once, when the boy barely came to the man’s knees, when the man had to tilt to reach the boy’s tiny, soft hand, he would gently enfold the boy’s fingers into his own and guide him to the water’s edge. Now, after years of absence and interference – separated as other’s conflicts became theirs – neglect, no word, then no words exchanged as familial berms became hills and hills mountains. With only two weeks from another separation – by the boy from his family, the man from his new family – they were absorbed by memories and changes. It was their final time, after many times. The cool, late afternoon ocean breeze cooled their faces as they stood in the same spot near the same Cyprus tree – now supported by metal. The man, escaping his past, now bent, slow, sought merely comfort, warmth, and family. He…