A heavy head lays between my legs
Making certain that it won't totter, I lean back against the headboard -
My breath catches when he exhales;
His throat's sore.
Whether the storm-clouds stay or the weather behaves,
every day, he lays cold.
I fear he holds the weight of the world.
My hand seeks somewhere to take hold.
I'd never consciously touched some places atop his head;
hair new and soft,
- Wet like the gravel from yesterday's rain -
slips through my fingers like sand, like silk, like shame
lit by the flashes of lightning striking miles away
as if timed by a metronome,
every one shakes our home.
The night burns a linear black, tears swell my eyes,
I'm thinking he is
a feeble boy that many compromise...
A drift in the atmosphere and his body bends like a bow.
Will his dreams point skyward or straight ahead -
am I to release the arrow?