He's my Uncle Steve -
he rhymes with make believe.

I never see him, but I believe he's there,
sitting near with his low hum,
refraining from making a show,
rather staying below, but making enough for me
to know - comfort, making me safe,
making the difference between sleep and awake,
between making zeds and making a peep,
making space for me
to make myself at home,
snuggled deep, quietly full of the stuff
that makes great mischief.

And when I awake I know he's gone,
taking his low hum back to where he came from.

He's my Uncle Steve -
he rhymes with make believe
and he'll make a return when I need him.