Bedtime comes and goes.
I splash the kids with the last of my kisses,
putting them in their place among the things
of their world: stuffed animals, action figures,
Lego blocks, and puzzle pieces. Then I take
my place between the sheets of the queen-sized bed,
listen to wind rattle the hooks on the neighbors’ flagpole
as the last evening commuter rail pulls wearily into the station.
Tonight I am grateful for this almost-silence,
the cadence between night and day,
and the chance to insert myself into it.