a poem in the afternoon

The boys are jumping on our bed, their (and my) favorite way of shaking off the post-nap cranky. Luckily one of the beds is king-size, so it's a plenty large enough trampoline for two small boys. (Un?)luckily it's also ready to be thrown out, so a little more abuse makes no difference.

The walls of our bedroom are painted a deep, almost french blue. The bed linens are various shades of violet. The boys in their brightly colored tees and leggings make me want to film them, flying up in the air in technicolor and floating back down.

Aleph is jumping with his arms over his head. Suddenly he stretches as high as he can and says, "I can reach the sun!"

He stops jumping and comes over to me, looking at his hands. "I'm holding the sun!" He brings his cupped hands up to my face.

"Where are you putting it? On my cheeks?" I ask, charmed.

He brings them up higher and smiles a tiny smile. "In your eyes," he says, and spills them out.