See how her eye’s soulseining lash has caught the woman-wisdom from the night,
now night comes to her as a little thing to stroke and pet and finger till it purrs:
listen awhile to the persuasive rhythm of sleep, then touch each closing lid (and lips are best for this) before tonight be folded there with some night out of Egypt, or lips quite part with an old burden of meaning to let the star-burs glisten on her teeth.
Howard Nutt's "Woman, Woman" is a short, dreamy portrait of a woman at the edge of sleep. The speaker looks at her closely, noticing how her eyelashes seem to have gathered the wisdom of the night itself. Then the poem turns playful: night is no longer something vast or frightening but a small creature she can stroke and pet until it purrs.
From there, the speaker seems to address someone, perhaps a lover, urging them to listen to the rhythm of her sleep and to touch her closing eyelids, ideally with their lips. The imagery drifts toward the exotic, with "some night out of Egypt," and ends on a glittering picture: her lips parting to let "star-burs" shine on her teeth.
The mood is hushed, tender, and sensual. The speaker admires her with a kind of wonder, and the strange, jewel-like images give the poem the feel of a half-remembered dream.