Night has pressed her hand to your eyes. You fly dragons over magic rivers and lead clone
armies through red dust of Mars.
I follow your brows, lashes, these long limbs, hands that build Lego tales and castles,
draw warbirds, roll out sixteenth triplets; these hands feel older now. Whom will they hold?
I watch you outgrow this bed but you refuse to outgrow the smell of your mother’s skin.
You bury your face in my shirt and come up sated, remembering the milk and my heartbeat.
You are my heart.
There’s so much you want to know and I don’t have the answers for, things for astronomers
and professors to tell. And you didn’t know I kissed you tonight and a thousand times
past. But when I’m outnumbered by time, you will always have this sky, a hospitable spread
of stars that are yours for the asking, when you wake.
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