Lungs ~ a poem for Felix

While drying the last of the evening dishes,
I heard your cry from an upstairs room,
And then once more, not quite in stereo,
This time from the hall: the monitor
With a half-second delay.

As your voice rose in chorus with itself,
For the briefest moment I was drawn to you both
Like air rushing to fill eager lungs.
For you, if God granted, I’d divide myself.
How I yearn to be in two places at once.

A child's tiny hand holding its father's finger, against a background of grass.

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