This room feels crowded
even though there are just two of us.
His head on the pillow, mine in my hands.
I stand by his bed
as if he were learning to lie in it,
as if I were his teacher, the one
who walks alongside the bike
the child is learning to ride.
All our feelings mull around us
like munching cows,
sometimes touching as they wait
to be milked
but the hours pass and nothing is spoken,
everything abided.
