I can barely breathe on nights like this
having tucked thirty five summers under my starry belt
with no guarantee that I'll see another one
and every hope that I'll see double and then some.
My breath gets caught somewhere sad during late August sunsets.
I was just reminiscing this afternoon about how much Orion used to sleep in my arms last summer;
we'd go out on the porch swing and he'd look around and express interest and
the swing's motion would lull him into my chest
and dreaming so fast.
I miss that feeling.
Orion version eighteen months is more of a crib sleeper
though unlike last summer's baby this one comes up and hugs my leg while I wash the dishes
and says, "Hi, Mama" with a sweetness that makes me turn off the water and crouch down
to kiss that round and tender cheek.
We have the luxury of that kind of time, my babe and me.
I love him so much that I cannot help but tear up just looking at these pictures.
If there was more time I'd document every last new thing he says and does
because I hardly remember all of the things I'd previously known of him.
Every day is a symphony and I cannot find my staff paper to pin it down into notes, so it just kind of becomes the ever-evolving tune I hum.
It's beautiful and melodic, his song.
Then I ask myself gently, "What would they serve, the lists?"
and the answer is that they would not serve anything but my reminiscing
and eventually like all things we love those items must be let go.
Life feels like a long and beautiful goodbye on late August evenings
rich and present with melancholy
and heartfelt everything
The universal feeling of my life that's never been escaped,
never seen resolution is a deep yearning that says
"Oh don't go, I've loved you so much!"
and yet the years come and the years pass
with ever so much to show for having been