who plants the thought-seeds in the night,
careful sprouts by waking,
tender shoots by light?
who sprinkles dreams with fertile-dust
to germinate by dawn
creation's tidy lust?
who pushes up the life from non-
through belly, heart,
to voice — beyond?
with stillness and the moon the sparks
to stir idea's beginnings in the dark
they send her reaching restive toward the day
toward notion's petal
and inkling's burgeon-play.
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