In the middle of the night
I wake, my boy’s face
above mine. “I had
a bad dream,” he says.
“It’s all falling apart.
I’m scared.” And I
walk him back to his
bed and hold him
for hours till at last
his breath again touches
the place of dreams
and all around
our spooning limbs
and quiet breath
the world continues
to fall apart.
My favorite part,
“till at last
his breath again touches
the place of dreams…
in the center of the poem, really, where it should be. and the way the poem quiets down from there is good. I do so like that the world continues to fall part, only more quietly!