closed curves of his eyes,
his dreams the parentheses
start and end his day.

*

i kiss your shoulders
as they curve around your dreams,
you smile in your sleep.

in the secret hours
between your dreams and morning
i come when you call.

*

so complete, this love:
you need warmth, comfort, my voice
i need only you.

*

lately i don't know
where did this temper come from?
this rage in my throat?

*

picture book lion
all yellow claws, teeth and mane:
baby growls back.

*

surrounded by sons:
flying objects, sounds, needs.
in my head, alone.

rain falls on the lake,

a thousand circles rippling.

i watch them kiss you.

*

you crawl on the shore,

watch your brother jump from raft.

you smile and make plans.

*

end of day hunger

as fresh and vast as the lake

that exhausted you.

wake up in motion

open eyes mean time to move

how fast night passes.

*

find new ways to name

parts of you that challenge me:

"spirit", "passion", " "strength".

*

alone with your blocks,

you discover gravity

and your own power.

*

vise around my breath

releases me when you smile,

when your eyes meet mine.

*

"it feels good to yell,"

my son patiently explains.

"it gets the mad out."

*

picking raspberries

I remember not to force

fruit before its time.

bedroom: windowed trees,

rising sun, green cathedrals

my sons, living prayers.

*

morning, a new space:

yesterday's materials

sculpted into new.

*

sunlight on your face

finds new paths from brow to mouth--

sleeping changes you.

*

daily news of the world:

we are murdering our home

just by sitting here.

*

i can't imagine

what will take the place of blue,

the oceans, the sky?

*

all tucked in at last;

fourteen hours together

still, i am in awe.

"now, listen to me!"

such a strong sense of himself

in only four years.

*

mouth immersed in cold

pink ice cream coats his whole face

joy shines from his eyes.

*

summer, this season

first discovery of self

running free through heat.

how much more of me

can i question and reshape

before i am gone?

*

some days i am clay

needed and kneaded by hands:

they pull me apart.

*

talking with mothers--

so far from our intentions:

how did we get here?

*

tired baby sings

humming himself into sleep,

just wired that way.

children murmur sleep

lightning flares round curtain edge

summer storm arrives.

your cry circles me

the spiraling rise and fall--

sleep is not easy.

*

i count ten minutes

tip toe past your quiet breaths;

not long enough: cries!

*

at camp or napping

both boys content without me.

dishes and laundry: free time.

toe polish peels off,

no time now for pampering

poison vanities.

*

our tired bodies

muscles ache from leaping waves:

ocean afternoon.

*

some days there is time

to pin down these tornadoes

in seventeen syllables.

*

my violent voice-

i wish i could take it back,

pull it from their ears.

*

shaking, ashamed, sad:

i don't recognize myself

mirrored in wide eyes.

*

after enough sleep

the spirit is rested, calm-

all is possible.