For B. J. DiPietro
Cold, I coax you across the divide and into my bed.
Wrapped in my left arm, your back against my front,
You fall back to sleep, resume your dreams.
"Whoa!" you exclaim, still asleep.
A minute later you twitch, twitch again.
Odd to hold you and not know what adventures
My arm contains.
Soon the first bird sings, and
The rectangle of the window appears out of darkness
At the foot of the bed.
Camp Windsor Hill, Rangeley Lake, Maine