I kiss your sloppy hands
before I wash them.
You don't resist my care.
Instead your head falls back,
and a tiny yawn creases your cheeks.
Your eyes shut tightly,
and I wonder what they see
inside your head. Is there another
darkness there, different from the night?
Or do you see a light
that only children know,
a light so dim in me
it can no longer trick my eyes?
Daniel Brick
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/washing-the-baby/
