puffs out a throated beehive 
of noise 

my son—sleep-suited and amphibious—
pulls in the most comforting particles—

chlorofluorocarbons or murmurs 
of a song-breathed tunnel 

i take the parts of the sounds which stretch dots 
into dashes and dashes into slippers 

my own breathing machine swooshes 
each lost hunger for air 

back in through a tube—
a sentence repeated for effect 

my wife and daughter burrow thickly 
in the reeds—their sleep unworded 

at 4:30 i will sense him looking at me 
his cheeks wet-verbed on the edge of the crib—

his hair blowing with sleep’s 
exhaust 

Scott Ferry

As an RN in the great Pacific Northwest, Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal. In other lives, he taught English and practiced acupuncture. He also serves as Senior Editor at Gleam: Journal of the Cadralor, and his writing appears in American Journal of Poetry, Cultural Weekly, KYSO Flash, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Misfit, Noble/Gas Qtrly, Slippery Elm, Spillway, and Swimming with Elephants, among others.

His third book of poetry, These Hands of Myrrh, is upcoming from Kelsay Books. His first collection, The only thing that makes sense is to grow, was published by Moon Tide Press in December 2019, and his second, Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies, by Main Street Rag in October 2020.

Author’s website: https://ferrypoetry.com