My son's voice

Pigeons have my son's voice,
as always suddenly, like when he first cried,
and asking, when he speaks without words
and I see the sky through his eyes.

But is he really listening? Is he not arguing
widely, all over noon, with silence,
things tumbling through his look
every so much whole and praised?

And then his mother is singing melancholically long
and then he becomes motionless little animal,
fresh water on your lips, hands full of shy space
or how do you see sounds when you are little.

Having a son is having the heart ensilvered
you gave a face to growth, a name
to walk the world, standing out.
Having a son fills eternity.