LITTLE SON ASLEEP Poem by Bernard Dewulf

During a typical weekday afternoon,
a century's dispatched outside.
Your sleep is murmuring in an electric ear
in the ether of the first house.

Windows open wide to a summer
and the pidgin of another new age
works its way into our silent rooms.
Now let the future have its day.

We'll live together here till later.
Till I fit in you, a father in a father.
Till this house makes you move out.
Till it's as if I'd never been there.

Here I am, after my day's noon.
I know, your head is dreaming now,
but listen. Something in our rooms is singing
of each age. Breathe, breathe deeply with me.