the width of the ocean

there is not always such depth
washing across me;

sometimes it is the lick of a
tiny wave, a student propelling herself
into my arms for the daily hug.
i am awake to her hair
on my cheek and the ache of it,
a thing i didn't recognize until
a second ago.

sometimes i watch fathers with
their babies, giant hands
touching fragile fingers, those
barely-kisses on top of
a soft head, and then it is a riptide
pulling me under, edges blurred.

that is when i understand
the width of the ocean,
the space between my arms
that suddenly feels so empty.