a moon, worn as if it had been a shell

I read somewhere about a man and woman who went into their children's bedrooms at night and bowed, silently, to them. I thought of that last night when I tiptoed first into Sophie's room and saw her dark form curled away from me and then into the boys', their breathing full and loud, loudness stilled in sleep, finally. Still and silent, it felt natural to bow, deeply, at the waist, their breath mingling with the rest of the air in the room.