So cover me,
         he says
and I rise up
    a great billowing black sheet
and I close my arms
And it's dark
     he says,
So black; where is my mother?
The stars of your womb
     are closing in,
and I do not say
They are not stars
     they are holes in the sheet
There is light outside
and your mother dances,
                   dances,
thinking you are hiding under the bed.