I would ask of you one thing.
In that quiet hour, when night air is still
heavy and pregnant with the unknown
when words eat words for want of silence
when that moment eclipses my shadow and your sun
I would ask of you a dream.
I will lay down all my borrowed words
everything I have learned, studied
and come to through another
I will grind out the fear, tremor by tremor
through the cells of this body.
I will make of my self a hollow space
free of shadows and pretensions
free of hesitation and preoccupation with self
to accommodate each particle of this dream.
I will think no thoughtI will speak no word
I will not raise a finger
until the trembling night takes in to her womb
the beating of my heart and articulates that dream