a son.

francis lafayette 

our sunday love, our gentle dove

our son, our son, our son

~

time expands and time contracts. 

friday, and you're standing in the kitchen, humming along to django reinhardt and stirring an old fashioned for your husband in a cab from the airport, and waters rush. saturday, and he murmurs peter and wendy as you labor long and labor hard. sunday, and birth takes you to the end of yourself and brings you back and carries you home. 

euphoria.

arrival of the birds.

arrival of the bird.

skin to skin, and it's like it has always been this way (it has). like stardust. like singing. like a map of the universe. like vows under a magnolia tree. like umbilicus. like the origin of the world. like the birth of a mama and papa.