Do you know who I am? If I fell to pieces could you
Reassemble the jigsaw? Do you know where it all
Goes: Grandma's prayer book, my cassette tape
Of Taos drummers, the postcard from El Salvador?
You-who've never even asked about my book
Of matches, to light the light I've carried
Through a hundred tunnels because
The light at the end is never enough.
The night is a boarded-up city of nameless streets.
Winds hiss through the slit tire of a star
While that other woman named Sleep
Holds you as I look on until morning.
From THE DEVIL'S WORKSHOP (University of Arizona Press, 1997)