John Hollander said, "I want my poems to be wiser than I am, to know more about themselves than I do."
Angel at the Door
Who visited my dreams last night?
The coolness of sheets on this summer
Respite, cuddled my guest towards my door
Of despair.
She, for that gentleness can only be a she,
Kissed my brow so furrowed, her lips
Of dew unparched my lines of worry.
Spending the night on a stool by fears
Door; letting one sleep upon her lap
And then, guiding it to my dreams.
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