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i hear the footsteps of my unborn children
pit-pat on the cold, linoleum kitchen floor

soft and pink and covered in mud
dark red clay mixed with tears from heaven
caked into the crevices of tiny toes

avid adventurers, eyes alight and stories streaming
as i dip their little feet in warm water

bars of soap and several scrub-brushes later
and only the dark red lining beneath their toenails
remain to tell the tale

fluffy, white towels and arms encircle their drooping heads
as the sun dips fast beneath the red mountains

pinks, blues, and purples smeared like finger paint across the horizon
their memories melting into dreams
as the moon replaces the sun on the throne in the sky

i fluff their pillows and kiss their foreheads
smiling gently as they fight to stay awake

eyelids dropping slowly, almost regretfully
as i sing the celtic lullaby my mother sang to me
on cool dry nights so heavy even the wind couldn't blow

as the final sliver of light disappears from the heavens
the imagery melts away, preserved in hope for another day