We bathe him in the morning when there is light.  He opens his eyes wide and his breath deepens; his body shaped like a frog.  Sometimes in the middle of the night there are bedside lamps on, the whole family is awake and soft words are spoken.  There are so many new methods of communication Thom and I never knew.  Ives is heavier when he is tired.  His breath gives information.  When I feel scared, Thom knows before I tell him.  Before Ives sneezes his eyes get a little glassy.  The floor boards know our dance by heart: the choreography of steps rocking Ives to sleep.  The whole house feels alive and is learning along side us, a forth member of our family.   When Ives calls out, Thom thinks he sounds like a winged dinosaur.  We are all learning so much.  We need new words for happy, for love.  Suddenly all the old words feel insufficient. 

A thief has broken into my soul.  He left the windows open and the door ajar.  The wind rushes through now.  And everything that wasn't stolen is everything that is important.