THEFT OF LINES FROM ELIADE, ANGLETON, STOKER, AND ROTHENBERG Mother of Sleep who asks us who scratches questions on our foreheads Mother of Sleep who waits all night if need be who never tires it is impossible to say who or what we are left to our own left to the day's deep devices we find the usual inevitables now like a road through hills cuts into us revealing layers of then and in his house of fifty steps (his house that he gives to us his steps he helps us take) killer the golden studies words he learned from us whispers words he taught himself