BABYTALK

WayneSL 1987–Michael

I listen to my
baby talk
baby talk
into the dark of a sleep-still room.

Beneath the moon
a jet lands
a car sings by
and the leaves of a sapling applaud
a clever night breeze.

He’s speaking words of his own invention
a song of good and happy thoughts
no lies.
He is what I was
unlimited.

His mother and I lie arm for arm
leg on leg, sharing
a long unguarded border
like shadows of each other
in suspended animation.

I ignore the cramp that bids me move
as long as I can.

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