Night/Ride

Night

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night with words and ideas running through my head. Sometimes, they’re just there, and other times they come in a dream. In both cases, they are so powerful that I have no choice but to write them down.

Writing can be a sort of magic. Something similar to what happens at night can happen in the day, while walking, sitting, or driving. But the words that come at night, in my sleep, those are often the best. I don’t pretend to understand how it works, or why. It just happens.

The words come. I wake. I write.

Writers write. That’s just what we do. One must take advantage of the moment, even if it comes in the middle of the night.

Last night, I woke up from a dream and wrote this poem:

The Ride

it was it, the one, the ride.
the train was gaining speed,
but not too much.
it was her, the one, the love,
the perfect mix of all of them
and none of them at once.
something familiar,
something new.

her hand slowly touching mine,
almost holding, not quite.
her lips almost whispering
the words,
“I love you.”
the train, steady…