Day 11 – a reasonable exception

I half dreamed yesterday’s poem
in the singsong quiet before midnight,
liquid images playing behind closed eyelids,
snug under a patchwork quilt.

Another time, I would have crawled out of bed,
carried my body through the dark,
held the alphabet in my lap, bleary-eyed,
back bent over slow-moving creativity,
and written the words given.

Another time, not after a day of moving.

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