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 squint to identify another as if

seeing the other before is what it looks like after bodies break free and become unique

against all others when we seek the answers to the mysteries of our blood and callings

because resemblance is only a construction pulling together what might have been or

what never was or what should be in hopes of affirmation to say that I am and he is and

we are because when I pick him up I am picking him up to hold him to listen to his chest

hurling harmonious murmurs the sounds I have come to know and the same respirations

echoed within me and out of me into this room