The five-year-old twins who wandered From their yard were finally found Side by side in their matching outfits On the bottom of a neighbor’s pool, Staring at the sky through six feet Of inviting water, holding hands. On the roster of horrors, theirs Is not the worst, not even close. Children die tragically every day And too often more than one In the same family, as in the car wreck Yesterday that killed four boys, Two of them brothers, driving to Billings To play in a basketball tournament. Yet, years after it happened, I still think of the twins, Their unanswerable, fathomless Panic, the froth of their flailing. And then the moment they grasped Each other’s hand and let go — The way strangers joined hands And let go of the burning towers — Their separate struggles pressed Flat between their clasped palms, now Neither of them afraid alone, Drifting again as they had In amniotic waters where Death and love are the same.