Not a newborn's cry, the nurse says, more cracked, strained. I hold no way you're supposed to sound, your eyes roll loosely like dice fists pummel air in arcane circles tubes entwine you, changeling in a bassinet— clearly something is wrong. Just take him home and love him, she chirps as she closes our door. I have no idea how to soothe you, nor do I feel like your mother. I cry when I'm not supposed to. I want to go back in time to meet my real baby born into candlelit bathwater. Nothing—only a song is within reach. I hum "Edelweiss," but you do not look happy to meet me, you're shriveled and might not grow. My voice is broken too, but I stroke you, keep singing. One cold night pulling into our driveway, the stars catch me by surprise. Just how many, each so far away, each being a star. I wrest you from your car seat, white puffy snowsuit, you belong in space so I hold you up, my arms outstretched like an offering: please, fill him with your emptiness, your mystery. He matches you, he needs you. Help me keep him glowing here on Earth.