There is a specific rhythm to my step
as I check on my sleeping son.
As if somehow a composer has given me sheet music
with timed beats up to the door.
Then there’s the long rest –
where I listen for his sleep deep breaths-
and then I move on.
I recognize the song of these steps
and realize the cadence is
identical to my mother’s steps
as she checked on me.
As if somehow
we are both movements
in the same symphony.