Afraid of the dark, they find their way to
my bed at night; one hot, one cold, and no
rest for any of us.

Sleepless elbows and knees find my hip, shin
and the tender bone under my eye; my body
remembering a knot of child kneading my bladder, 
stealing my breath, stamping footprints on my belly.

These growing limbs, in need of new shoes, longer
pants, another haircut; these limbs
that cling to me like vines to the face of a house
are working themselves free.

Against the curtain of their still small breaths, 
truth dawns—
     they will outlast me.  Worse, first
they will stop walking themselves
to my bedside at night.