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.”