Glimmers
His belly swollen, his hands full of light, when he lifts them up
and opens them mid-air like a fan. He doesn't yet know why she came here,
but won't leave. He has in him a different silence, bitter and sticky.
It's December and only now does he learn to forget, learn to absorb.
Sleeps on the floor, right by the window and won't be raised. No, he doesn't
want them to close her eyes. He weaves the hours on his fingers
and still only ever looks up. This in her is still rather shapeless,
though ever more hungry.
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