Through the lush tunnel of Carolina we have come to this moment. Weathered wood beneath our backs, we give our breath to the night in the milky warm sleep of children. There are only the three of us, me and my brothers, asleep on boards. Even in my dreams their soft round forms are with me. The earth swells beneath us, whispers a myth of thick women: we slept like this in our mother. Our mouths bloom in the darkness like vowels. Or love.