beside me, falls asleep

in a lump, all his jump

and shimmy plum

run out. He’s about

as wide and as deep

as a pillow, plumped.

And I—propped

slumped and reading,

needing no one to

tuck me in, needing

nothing, really—

eventually I take

to nodding, nodding

with all I know and have

known, toward the un-

known. Later I wake,

my book in my lap,

the lamp still bright,

to find him grinding

his tiny white teeth

with all his might.