Jasper toddles quickly down the hall 
in our second-floor apartment. 
He stops and listens to a sound:
our neighbors’ kid below us, 
who also runs with stomping feet
that send vibrations up the wall
from how their steps pound the floorboards.

He smiles before continuing
his indoor sprint from room to room –
a reply comes between pauses. 
Two of them a story apart
thumping out playful messages
back and forth in a kind of code
which translated they know means joy. 

I wish we talked to each other
more often as adults this way, 
in ciphers made of cheerful noise. 
I wish we trusted each other
how Jasper seems to have faith in me
when he puts his hand in mine
and we walk downstairs together.