Goodnight, My Poem

what will they grow up to be,
these poems, still searching for words,
still struggling with truths,
still stumbling over empty lines,
this one that you read
and the dozens that hide in the dark, unread, unsaid,
what will they grow up to be,
I tuck them in each night,
and tell them stories,
of others with wings,
with hearts, birthed by strangers faraway,
I kiss them goodnight,
one day the words will do to you,
what love does to the eyes,
what the sun does to the rain drenched sky,
one day you will find yourself,
on the precipice of being,
in the moment between joy and ache,
one day you will find
that the words have done to you,
what the quiet night does to music.