Quiet night
pierced by the keening of a plane
cutting into my sleep-deadened ears
with an insistence that shocks me
into wakefulness.
My eyelids flutter,
my dream interrupted in full pelt
but still I hold onto the remnants –
hoping to capture the scene
before it melts away.
In my mind
the fantasy begins to build again…
a figure…a room…but as I drift down
words come and take their place,
insistent and intriguing.
Shaking off sleep,
I reach for the pad…the pen… always to hand
lest thoughts take flight like butterflies,
and are lost in the never never land
writers fear.
Written out
like a jug emptied of it’s measure of wine,
I sigh, and try to evoke the tendrils
of sleep that once were mine.
But they are gone.
.