A light switch might just be
itself--that is, until you filled the
room with stories that turned
real before you even told them.
Then darkness was not for sleep,
but for mysterious worlds built
to be explored by spirits almost
like you three, yourselves.

A lightning bolt might strike
men and trees, or it could strike
up memories of slippery grass
and sleepy laughter. That was
not the first time you spoke, but
when secrets were shared in
low voices, trust put out a root
in an unlikely place of places.

A light-hearted comment might
so easily be dismissed, but you
saw the clockwork of a quick mind
beneath the words. As you slept,
you remembered, and had an
answer ready on the morrow. No
wonder you, on equal footing now,
said 'twins' with such a smile.

A light touch on the shoulder
might mean nothing. But after all
these years, it might mean that
some part of your soul crawled
its way into somebody else's
ribcage and sits there. It might
mean that you are precious, so
I whisper: sleep well tonight.
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