For Caleb:

By

 

For Caleb:
Windows open, the distant and irregular melody of a baby's insistent yet weary cries dropping
like pebbles into a muddy spring pond. It is a protest campaign lost into the lacy twilight
of a standard-issue Tuesday, dogs barking from their fence posts
and birds chirping in thorny branches nearby.
He is all vowels and raw oxygen.
Reminding us neighbors the necessity of one’s mother.
Silence.