Write me to sleep,
Gently—lying
Beneath the beams, listless
As I am.
Write me wrapped, as leaves,
Still, with the ground
The way I settle, and turn
In the dark
With the sound of sheets.
Write me the way I seemed,
Your memory—
The waking moment, my face,
Still soft from the night.
Write me another name
To keep,
In that partial place—
But leave the rest as it was
The same tender sleep
That left us each day.
And stay with me there,
In the room you make,
As someone else
Who sounds like you, who sleeps
Like you,
And let us dream
Together, that quiet night.
Matthias Mann grew up in the small town of Thorndike, Maine, where he now lives alone in a quaint, woodsy cabin. He writes regularly every day with a stopwatch set to four hours, and takes photographs when he has the time. To make ends meet, he teaches photography. The landscape, and its quiet, has featured prominently in both his writing and images, as he has tried to find the beauty in the mundane world around him. He thinks of writing as a strange form of company, enjoys walking through the woods, and eats his breakfast in the sun each morning.
