On summer nights, poems write themselves
On the closet door,
Slipping in through open curtains.
Lamplight consumes them so the only hope
Of capturing them is to memorize each
Shadowy word and nuance,
Each blank space and line break
You make a mental photograph of their shapes
Recite them over and over until
They become the dream you dream
And in the morning, pen them to the page.
from her book Geometry of the Heart
Used by permission of the poet.