For Zarli

Having you sleep with me
is a little like having you back in my womb.
You turn and the skin of my blanket rises and billows.
You stretch and your heel kicks my hip bone,
your miniature elbow pries into my ribs.
I couldn't sleep then either, too hard to move a muscle or change
position.

But back then I couldn't turn and look at you in the dark,
discerning the miniscule mountain range of your profile against

pale dawn creeping in at the window.
I couldn't inhale the holy incense of a very small human—
mostly clean with dried yogurt and Vicks around the edges.
I couldn't feel your tiny arms reaching desperately for me in the
shadows,
stretching around my neck and relaxing in relief.

I feel sorry for the me before I knew you.
I feel sad for myself years from now when you are grown.
But in this now, with a sigh echoing your own,
I lie awake and content in this humble embrace
encompassing the whole world.