what haunts me at night when I’m holding him in the rocking chair is the faint glow of a nightlight from the wall behind us giving rise to shadows of caverns and rifts as I begin to think that the well acquainted ghosts of a grand lost continent hardly fit back together as I have had the feeling lately that in time I am more him than he is me because tides of time erode resemblances and nights like these with his shores settled within these ancestral crooks and his quivering landscape drifts and presses against mine with guttural gurgles and tired limbs woven and tangled in amongst familiar shores lofting boundaries higher toward the heavens these are boundaries like walls that…