These vinyls would have been ruined
had they not been in covers,
shielded from the dust stirred
by your first six years of exploration.
The dog lies with her head in my lap,
the cats are in their beds,
and vinyl after vinyl slips from its case,
needle settling into grooves of music
from my childhood, filling this room
as I imagine you in the front row
of that brightly colored room miles from here,
your fingers diligently curled around the pencil,
your giggles muffled at boys who make faces.
I recall the wet gnaw of
your gums against my knuckles,
turning eventually to smiles and laughter
and energy I cannot begin to measure...
into a symphony of beauty,