when he wakes from dreams, he burrows into me, a boat come to harbor, all soft cotton and sweet milk and soul-deep sighs of "mama." in our apartment building vestibule, i bundle him for strolls while he stretches to peer at our neighbor's door. always, he raises eyes and palms to be the one to tote the roses. so many kinds of love.
we rock and nurse and listen to taxis roar by and watch dark break into dawn into day.
treasures: boots in delicious pink, a wool coat with velvet buttons, a wooden goose, a schoolhouse globe from a century ago, smell of paperbacks and musk, smell of violin varnish and moss and pine...
there is so much that i want to say and there is so much that i can never say, but today, on the last day of the year that he was born, it is enough to say: 'twas a year of love, 'twas a year of joy, 'twas a year of dreams.