I take a walk on Dividing Ridge Road
with a three month old baby 
in my arms to give
the parents an extra half hour
of shut-eye.
The heat of the day
is beginning to rev its engines
but the uphill portion of our lane
is shaded with locust trees
and the cool air of morning
is falling on our united bodies.
Oh, what a privilege
to hold this infant
whose world is coming into focus
as he is beginning
to keep his head erect

He lives in Brooklyn 
and this week is his first visit
to our neck of the woods

With him i try to experience this moment
as if for the first time
the strange sound of cicadas
the fading perfume of honeysuckle
the low hanging branches of the pines
the rush of air through hackberry leaves

When my mind comes back
to the old man that I am
i calculate that if he lives as long as i
the world will be well into the next century,
it’s not a thought that steadies my heart

AS we reach the top of the rise
where the woods are thickest
I Press him close,
suddenly there is the slow guttural call
of the yellow-billed cuckoo,
a bird often heard but seldom seen,
its rattling gulps and hollering hoots
cause us to spontaneously shiver