Verses flow in a steady stream,
or so it seems, until I wake
with a start,
part of me wondering
where the words could have gone.
Long ago, I realized
this feeling was nothing new.
Few of the images survive
those waking moments
that follow an unsettled sleep.
Keeping just a small part
of those thoughts is no small task.
Grasping for details leads nowhere,
each fading
with each passing moment.
In my dream I was writing,
this time about the moon,
more wan than blood-red,
fed by Earth’s shadow,
still fresh in my mind,
after keeping a date
late in the night
with camera and sky.
Now, photos that please me
tease me with ever-fading words.
Turning that ever-fading vision
into verse seems less likely
than any dream coming to life.
Shared with OpenLink 339 May Live edition at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
rivrvlogr 
I love the opening line, Ken, a perfect image for a poet, and I identify with waking with a start and wondering where the words could have gone. It put me in mind of the poem Christopher Reilly shared, ‘The Poem I Meant to Write’, especially the lines:
‘Keeping just a small part
of those thoughts is no small task’.
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This is exquisitely drawn, Ken! 😀 I especially resonate with; “In my dream I was writing,
this time about the moon, more wan than blood-red, fed by Earth’s shadow.” Always a pleasure to read your work ❤️❤️
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“In my dream I was writing,
this time about the moon,”
Those elusive dream poems! But I really like this line. 💙
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I know that I dream a lot because I wake from my dreams, but I always forget…
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