Climbing piles of warm clothes, <br />freshly folded from the drier, <br />you pose, triumphantly smiling, <br />beneath the soft glow of a lamp… <br />its dimmed halogen amber. <br />Toys, tumble from your hand <br />in a jumble of color, your face, <br />red like the flames of your hair, <br />encircles the deep blue pools <br />of your eyes, transfixed upon <br /> <br />A hanging chandelier, that <br />lit and turning like the cosmos, <br />fills the scope of your eyes, <br />scanning the perimeter of it’s <br />prismatic light. For nearly one <br />Bright bounding ball of a year, <br />you have rolled, tumbled, stumbled <br />and crawled into each newfound <br />corner of our lives. Now, wrapped <br />in a warm towel, your skin, soft <br />And pliable from talcum powder, <br />I thumb the dough of your face, <br />into a smile, cheeks rising like <br />flour from a baker’s window. <br />And now, pleasurably fatigued, <br /> <br />from the throb and pang of your <br />eyeteeth hammering through, I <br />stay up later, in the dark, rocking <br />you to sleep, knowing we will <br />never quite be this intimate again.<br /><br />John Tansey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-bright-bounding-ball-of-a-year-for-my-son-i-fear-will-never-see-again/
