In the dawn
When my toes are cold
They spread their little trinkets on the ground

In the hall
By the closet door
They creep into my bed without a sound

On a cube
In a plastic egg
A hundred fabric figures in a pile

See them march
Toward me in a line
And dance across the floor in a single file


Little faces keep no track of time
Little faces speaking out in rhyme

Little faces smiling in my mind

Tiny doors

For walking through
While sticky fingers clutch forbidden things
And the phone

For talking through
They often pull the cable when it rings
Sinking ships

On a foamy sea
That roll and tumble slowly from the motion of their filthy
Little hands

Their little hands

Little faces keep no track of time

Little faces speaking out in rhyme
Little faces smiling in my mind


In the dark
When their eyes are wide
They listen to the secrets that I tell

In a ball
On their tiny beds
Or beneath them where the shadow people dwell

And the moon
Beams that split the night
Leave bars of yellow pasted on their faces

As they drift into a dream
In a dream


Little faces keep no track of time
Little faces speaking out in rhyme
Little faces smiling in my mind