For Ezra

We were born
on the same day.
Under a full moon,
in a cold snap.
Through a series
of continental collisions
at the headwaters
of the Rivanna River.
The doctor said
get out of the bathtub.
We were born in a bed
with stirrups. In a room
with bright lights. We were born
before we knew better.
The doctor said push.
We were born: passengers
on a boat, brimming
glasses on a tray, sweet and sour
spheres on a passionflower vine.
We were born under the same
sign. Mirror-dark, thrown back
by a body or a surface
of light. The doctor said do you want
this baby to be born today
or tomorrow. We said
today. We were born
at the same minute:
11:55 pm, in a city
entirely independent of any
county, in the autonomous region
east of the oldest mountains
in the world.

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