A Young Boy Falls Asleep on his Unborn Brother

He curls asleep in this orange peel of blankets,
spiky and quiet like a young bird.

Two beloved bodies,
one chest rises and falls in time with the slight whistle in his nose
like a train so far away it’s a story

The other breathes water and I can’t hear it.
Only a canopy of flesh separates
two tumbling brothers.

We sleep under the snow that clings to the window pane.
One nests under my neck
with a warm head and damp hair
that gathers like rivers on a map.
I breathe milk, the softest skin.
Can his brother smell it too?
I imagine his knees are at his brother’s cheek.

Dreams of running, something like flying,
four eager little feet squirming and twitching
on my skin
and under my skin.

At this hour in the night, can I hold them in my hands?
Soon the two will meet.