night song to my boy

Lying in bed beside you.

Your four-year-old hand

resting

in my forty-year-old one.

Tiny voice.

Tear-stained cheeks.

And I love them both –

voice and cheek.

The door open to night breezes

and stars glowing.

You’re chattering.

Pushing sleep

with blinky eyes

and your slow-down speech.

And suddenly

it’s quiet.

Sleep has won.

I close my eyes too.

The stillness sounds like rain

and the evening changes as rapidly as your speech flowed minutes earlier.