in his toddler language “moo” means “moon,”
moreover, he wants to look at the moon,
so outside we go to see
the moon waxing gibbous,
illuminating the edges of night-velvet clouds

content, he looks longer than I had expected–
it’s late, 
and my voice stupidly breaks his silence
with a story about the moon using clouds as a blanket,
but he’s not fooled by my subliminal bedtime messaging
and doesn’t respond,
so I shut up
(
.
.
.
)
and in the quiet
emerges a reverence 
for his wonder–

it’s him, not the moon, I watch

until he blinks away
and sighs, 
sated,
and so am I