maaa

            you summon me

            at the edge of sleep

 

            I’m here

 

            hand fingers mouth tongue

            vigorous, gentle

 

            the perfect black waves

            against shore
            

            for now

 

            I own the rhythm

            of the night

            and you

 

            settle down

            next to me

 

            in the curve of my back

 

            I deliver sleep to you

                 then slip away

 

              far from certain

            that sleep will stay

 

     warm hands

    pancakes dipped in agave

 

               my likeness

 

         sleeping again

         the night is never long enough

 

        warm hands

 

       reach out    looking for me

            talking to me

 

    warm redwoods

 

  I was thinking

 

 

           big laughter

 

 

               milk came

                            it filled you

      on purpose

 

                              I fell asleep against

                 the page,           mouth open

 

                            whispering

 

pen to paper

              and write

             no waiting around

            lots of writing

 

            strawberry and butter

 

            stream of things

            I let them pass

 

         Now I cross the street

 

              or the page

               with my pen

 

           hot coffee

           has gone into this

           waiting

 

       a kind of openness

     slightly but not entirely

              passive

 

       maybe writing is

 

           waiting

      

 

        again

           stream of writing

      uninterrupted

      spoken in my head

 

   then how come I

     call it writing?

 

      half muttered  things

         about poems

 

  I thought I wrote

  already but it

must have been

 all in my

head     created

for myself   in

there

how real  that 

      is

   just  in itself

how unnecessary

    anything else

  I sometimes

    think.

​

maaa

​

              are you awake?

​

the dreams crowd around us

                waiting

 

          I look at them

​

                              how beautiful

               they are 

​

                      more beautiful

than books or stars

​

                    dreams

                                   waiting to be had

           

​

                 maaa

​

                       my mind goes blank

            with waiting

​

            my child is beautiful

​

                               too

​

                     she knows that the

                     sleep is in me

​

the dreams are in me

                                everything is in me

                    in the night             

​

I am the

 

mother of the night

                      the mother in the night

    

         I am the antidote to night.