Those eyes so ecstatic with the gleam of new life, the wide laugh that no doubt uses up so much of the breath contained in those tiny lungs.

In the baby’s room

The city lights are
Milky
In the curtains…
Breath
Gentle as rain,
Sleep
Quiet as snowflakes

I didn't bathe him because I was too afraid he would slip out of my hands or his belly button would open. Then one night I woke at three A.M. certain he was rotting like a chicken carcass. Only as I lowered him into the sink did I realize this was a crazy time to wash a baby and I began to cry because he was so trusting—I could do anything and he would go along with it, the little fool.

If you list down whatever you didn’t get to do, then whatever you did won’t feel like it mattered.

You could climb to the top of the world and jump into the deepest of ravines, but if you don’t have someone to share it with you’ll always be looking back.

Whatever may happen, the memories of then will always remain, ever so sweetly with me, nothing to tarnish it. Not even the ugliness of reality.