They come to me
with questions, with
giggles,
with more than I realize.

I know them,  need them.
They are mine.

And they cry my name
through peals of laughter.

And they cry my name
through the shadowy hall.

And it is in the darkened-ish
hallway that I then find myself,
going to them.

And it is I, the alchemist, who turns
their tears to smiles
and eventual sleep.
And it is I who, long after they drift off to sleep,
sits and listens.  Sits and watches their chests
rise and fall, like heat.

And I close my eyes then,
only to ask myself to remember,
not to sleep.