Son

And the mind chimes in again
the tick of the clock stops, depending
on its position on the wall
The silence comes again
The night is a servitude to my dreams
blank with the new tomorrow
in which he laughs at my strength
and buries his face on her breasts
leaving this destiny between our ghosts
to decide in the aftermath.
Not in this lifetime, yet
will our baby spread my womb
and an angel will sing with his beauty
stamped on posters throughout heaven.
Footprints by little sandals on a dirt road
his little feet full with us
sparkling and dreamy like us...
Maybe in the next lifetime, I say.
And today comes in pronouns
short stories, calendars
and so far away lies are dancing
in your room full with her
each day strutting new convincing hopes
that you won't need to face my love
ever again, so it doesn't burn
through your priceless days of work
at being everything I always
dreamt you were not.

And may the power of my words
wrapped inside a small box of silver
inspire a new love over this river
who slipped between my fingers
in spite of the signs that were given.
I rest in peace with the image
of our son running toward me
telling his mommy in a smile
everything in life only lives
if you truly believe in it.