to my newborn son

Some, —
can’t sleep, because they’re afraid
to close their eyes
and fall
into the bottomless hole:
where their suppressed memories, —
night moths,
are fatally attracted to an artificial light;
burning their wings, —
blinding their sights,
falling,
falling,
can’t reach the bottom.

While crickets chirp,
and fireflies fly.

Yet,
you, son, go to sleep.
Hushaby, mama and papa are watching you now.

Published by Arkady Sandler