the sons they share the window from the inside-

they overuse nothing; not palm, not forehead.
they do not fight, though one is older.  
they share a blanket and under it nakedness.
their penises rise but not for long and both sometimes notice.
mostly they giggle, but with patience.  the ice storm
they relieve by saying stupid ice cube storm.
the wires they have been watching sag with branches.
one branch alights middlewise to ash but is whole
for the loft of the wind’s crowding
  
-as two might share a sole thing willed.