INSOMNIA OF AN EDITOR
What was I doing before the nightmare woke me?
trimming the fat from meat
to keep it succulent yet lean
carving hedges in the Tuilleries
bushes into birds, wild trees to statues
cutting off toes to fit glass slippers
or discarding feet and keeping the digit?
I shake my man awake for understanding
but he only turns over and laughs
“My worst nights are when I distort
my own importance in the world.”