My Boy

Tousled and tumbling into the thickest patch of grass,
I chased your laughter -
hoping it would fill my dreams,
nullify my worries.
You ran, circling me in jest and discovery -
all boy, my boy,
muscles forming and imperfect steps,
grunting the words "bug,"
and "ball."
Not words, sounds really -
Speaking a world into being.

Serious and serenely staring at the television,
you curl your body backwards against your spine -
stretching it against the sofa,
turning over in my lap,
wrestling your blanket in torment and delight.
My boy, your life is
a wonder of infinite unknowns and insights -
a steady collection of gestures and
mimics,
the shake of your head,
an extended arm to present a pea,
the over-sized brush over your teeth.

Your face is discovery,
and behind your eyes is a map awaiting
visions and formations,
Somehow, my boy, you are part of me,
and not.
The thousand scenes play in my head
of why you are life,
of why life is a gift.

Wes