You wake with arms outstretched and legs curled,
the night restraining the tears but not the hunger.
Suckling and coddling soothes you back down
into the deep blanket of sleep like a flat stone
silently swiveling its way back to the lake bottom.
I wake only briefly to place a hand on your chest,
the weight of it an anchor keeping you tethered
while that lake swallows me again into darkness,
into a dream to be erased by the view of morning
peeking through the chill and drawn shades.
The next time we’ll meet will be dinner time,
you either resting silently or with wide eyes awake,
eager to tell us something, anything, everything
if only the words would come, would somehow form
as easy as from the lips you so eagerly smile at,
the thought almost readable in the folds of your smile
more genuine than any other smiles to come.