Your hands are your father’s
Only smaller, smoother like
The glassy sunsets of uncommon
Jewels. You raise life to your mouth
For inspection, you drink it in like wine.
I imagine your world in the prisms of
A periscope; you are seeing things I am much
Too jaded to see. The first hint of light that works
To wake me is your hundredth sunrise. Each
Morning you open your eyes and dream.
Our beautiful baby boy certainly keeps me busy and unable to post here as often as I’d like to, but thank you to those who continue to stop by and read my words. I truly appreciate it!