We cast shadow puppets 
on the bedroom wall, 
in the circle of light we’ve made, 
the lamp angled up so it beams across 
the single mattress, and us. 

I can manage an adequate rabbit, 
and a Homer Simpson that’s good, 
or bad, enough to make her laugh. 

Like this, she says, feathering my palms, 
turning me into an eagle. 

Together, four-handed, 
we figure out ways 
to create fantastic creatures, 
alien worlds, 
visions of the future.