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.