Alone, in the light of the moon, he stood a breath

away from the crib. He listened to the rise

and fall of the sounds of stillness, peace, then sleep.

….

From just beyond the door, she watched the moon’s

light crawl through the pane and cross the sheet, then rest

abreast her baby’s head. His shoulders cast

a shadow, high and broad, and kept her eyes

from seeing more. “What brought him here?” she asked

within her heart. “What calls him from his bed?”

…

He let a hand slide slowly down and caress

the child’s face–tracing the curves of cheek and chin.

….

She heard the whisper, but not the words. She saw

the hand that wiped his eyes, but not the tears.

She had no need to hear or see: She knew.

….

She slipped into the room, into his arms,

and held him not a breath away, alone,

the two–the three—of them, in the light of the moon.