He whispers.  Latham.

It’s as if he might scare them away.

The words.

So he speaks.  Softly.  Sweetly.  Silently.

And then he smiles.  He always smiles.

The quiet words roll in his mouth.  And over his tongue.  And out his lips.

I try to catch his whispers.  And save them.

But they fly through my fingers.  And so does my time.  With him.

So I whisper too.  We whisper together. 

The words.

And one day he’ll stop.  And I’ll miss it.  And him. 

So much.

The baby who whispers.

Related posts:

1. A Song For Baby’s Brother
2. A Midnight Mantra
3. The Talk of a Toddler
4. Bye Bye Bah-Bahs
5. Christmas 2009

Tags: Latham

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