Tell me where the poets go
‘twixt midnight and the dawn
Show me where they ply their trade,
to coax and come undone  

Behind the rocks the moonlight hides
and covers up her legs
The poet waits to trace the curve
of word upon the bed  

I follow close upon the heel
of thought so soon erased
I pluck the scraps from feasted plates
to taste
     to taste
          to taste