Sick Baby

She can only sleep in my arms. Every time I put her down, she coughs. We pace the floor all night long. Sometimes I sing to her, or hum, or talk, but sometimes I'm holding back tears as well.

The moon reflecting on the . . . it's just a river, really, but lagoon makes me feel I live a more romantic--and warmer--existence in in The Middle of Nowhere . . . anyway, the moon reflecting on the river, at least, can be counted on for a bit of prettiness amid the snuffly frustration of our nights.

Dim lights go on and off at various times all night next door. I spend some of these long hours wondering just what is going on over there. Too many odd things. Remind me to tell you about the birdhouse . . . with the wires snaking down the post. Too odd, really. But too tired right now . . .