Two Sleeping
She is soft.
Her hair folds like a river.
Time folds into itself.
A wrist slack on the quilt.
The small thread of breathing.
Her stillness brushes against his skin.
Count each inhale like a bead on a string.
Finger twitching in a half dream.
His breath catches.
She fills the room with quiet
and there he is, hands open
like an empty bowl.
Terry Heick, 2025