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Excerpt from "Feeding Night" p.144-147 in

"Best of the Poetry Salon, 2013-2018"

Curated by Tresha Faye Haefner


            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




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



       a kind of openness

     slightly but not entirely



       maybe writing is






           stream of writing


      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


how real  that 


   just  in itself

how unnecessary

    anything else

  I sometimes



              are you awake?

the dreams crowd around us



          I look at them

                              how beautiful

               they are 

                      more beautiful

than books or stars


                                   waiting to be had



                       my mind goes blank

            with waiting

            my child is beautiful


                     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.

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