I found this, Marie Ponsot, in Springing:
Child like a candelabra at the head
of my bed, wake in me & watch me as
I sleep; maintain your childlife undistracted
where, at the borders of its light, it has
such dulcet limits it becomes the dark.
Maintain against my hungry selfishness
your simple gaze where fear has left no mark.
Today my dead mother to my distress
said on the dreamphone, "Marie, I'll come read
to you," hung up, & and in her usual dress
came & stood here. Cold--though I know I need
her true message--I faced her with tenderness
& said, "This isn't right," & she agreed.
Child, watched by your deeper sleep, I may yet say yes.