I listen to my
into the dark of a sleep-still room.
Beneath the moon
a jet lands
a car sings by
and the leaves of a sapling applaud
a clever night breeze.
He’s speaking words of his own invention
a song of good and happy thoughts
He is what I was
His mother and I lie arm for arm
leg on leg, sharing
a long unguarded border
like shadows of each other
in suspended animation.
I ignore the cramp that bids me move
as long as I can.