You place a hand upon his chest.
The perfect ribcage
Of which you had some part
A rib from you
And a rib from me
And you count the up and down.
Relief.
Your hand lingers –
Desiring absolute reassurance
The kind you can take with you for a deepened sleep.
Just one more up
And one more down.
Softly unfurling
And bringing you peace.
Satisfied as you will ever be by such rudimentary instruments
You remove your hand
Cast one last look at the perfectly resting body
Working in all the ways it should
Going up and going down
The breaths of cyrstallized rhythm
And walk into the dim light
Bidding goodnight to this one slumbering moment
Containing a universe of growings and breathings and in and outs to satisfy only the most complex little galaxy
A stalagmite of personhood
Forming in such delicate balance upon cotton sheets under elephant-casted stars
