I saw the way your hand drifted to your chest,
the way your fingers lightly
felt around
looking for your heart,
for that steady beat.
I do the same,
with my foot,
constantly
tapping
the hard ground.
I need to know
that something will break my fall.
Aren’t we all
falling?
But when our son
comes
in the night—
eyes closed,
limbs
slumber walking.
He is so sure—
that he will find
the liminal space
between our bodies
your heart
and my feet.
His little body
always fits.
Suddenly
we are both
so still,
on this
riverbed
of little breaths.
