Even the birds were still sleeping
When I touched ground.
I went around the house, opening
Windows, then the plants.
Made my tea, wrote until breaking
Of morning. I went back
Up the stairs to see if you were waking.
Ever so quiet the smoky light
Covered the hills, no one making
The rounds yet to pick up trash
Or edge the grass. You were dreaming
When I cradled your head.
Your mother’s loving
Tenderly in place though she’s been gone
For many years, and you graying
Though ever handsome
In my arms. I tiptoe back to the breaking
Of light and let you sleep—
My king, my everything.