During one of the late feedings I stepped out of the kitchen into the family room; the moon startled me with his bright face, light drenching the house and streaming through the blinds. Holding Brendan, the two of us stepped into the angled light, into a shower of silver coins, Brendan swallowing milk and moonlight in greedy gulps, mouth foaming with saliva and formula, our reflection leaning to meet us at the window.
Four in the morning:
moonlight streams through the windows,
covers you and me.