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,
they will outlast me. Worse, first
they will stop walking themselves
to my bedside at night.