armed with a hundred
tiny treacheries
they emerge
hungry and on fire
from their deep beds
to be with us
to probe
and penetrate
to flick and flicker
spark and supplicate
to write our names
in warm wet circles
and extinguish
themselves
in a sweet and
sudden celebration
leaving us to wipe
their fevered brows
cradle them and
make no sound
until we are certain
they are asleep
until we are certain
they cannot hear us.
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