he is intent on playing his game,
spinning the marbles
so they collide,
barely touching before launching in opposite directions.
a crisp “click” shatters the silence.
the movements are so quick
he can’t understand it.

he wrinkles his eyebrows,
small toddler hands grasping the glass spheres,
gaze fixed on the magical balls.
the breathtaking beauty is
illuminated by dim candlelight.

he parts his thin lips,
corners of his mouth rising.
captivated by simple game,
he laughs,
a noise so melodious, so pure.

low rumbles cause vibrations,
a million fingers tap on the roof,
a single tear escapes through the rotten gap overhead
and lands with a tiny splash
on his stiff sleeping mat.

with a self-contented grin,
he continues to sit
on the cracked cement ground of his home.
his feet are caked with dirt,
and he is intent on playing his game.