His is the face that says I trust you.

His is the face that confirms I am the one he counts on most of all.

His is the face that emulates the joy that his self radiates.

His is the face that pleads with me to know his heart’s desire.

His is the face that crumbles when the frustration becomes too great.

His is the face that carefully observes the tiniest bits of his surroundings.

His is the face that houses eyes that are not quite blue and not quite green, awash like a mixture of oil and water.

His is the face that seeks out my familiar legs when I have blended into the crowd for too long.

His is the face that feels and drinks in the sounds and sights of a houseful of children.

His is the face that changes so as to speak the words a mother longs to hear said aloud.

His is the face that reflects the knowledge that he holds the key to his family’s heart.

Oh, my beautiful Amos.