3/1/12
I'm finding relief in the repetition;
the way mother's milk thaws
under the hot stream from the faucet,
like time slipping through fingers.
The way his eyes roll back
as he fights sleep, too enamored
with the shadows playing on the wall -
slumber has lost its appeal when
grey shades dance just so.
the warming of the bottle,
the battle for midday sleep;
these are my mantras,
echoes of humanity
in a world so fractured,
so frenetic that beauty
becomes mundane.
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