wingspan of a fox

today was a hard day, darling.

your daddy did many things

and isn’t entirely sure if he did

any

of those things as well as he could

or should because

well how on earth do we measure such things

anyway

sometimes your daddy feels as if

all he can do is walk into walls while

a door stands open how on earth did he miss it

and

today, goodness, today was one of those days

lots of up close and personal with drywall

and maybe you noticed because on your way

out of a door you turned to daddy who was on the floor

gathering our legos and you

waltzed in zipped pink cowgirl boots

plunged through scattered remnants of a plastic tower

and flung tiny arms as wide as could be

and i decided to measure this day

in the wingspan of a fox

and her grip around my neck.

today was a great day, darling.

i love you,

daddy

‘you won’t need sunscreen, darling, we’re indoors’

the white noise we use to help you sleep at night

is a recording of the ocean playing endlessly

which is how the ocean moves, mind you,

she’s restless and alive like you,

anyway,

i’ve come to love the sound of the ocean

whispering through your monitor

or the sliver in your nursery door to let the light in

because now her quiet roar is yours

and when i hear her movements on the sand

i am hearing you breathe.