Something happened that hasn’t for a long time. I woke up repeating the first two lines of a poem to myself. It was that half-dream state that happens just before sunrise for me. Long ago, when I had one of those Macbooks that has a handle and looks like a purse, I would keep it at the foot of my bed. It woke up instantly when opened and I could get those moment down before they disappeared. If I didn’t, they were gone, gone, long gone, dead and gone. So I rushed to the iMac in my home office and got it down. Then, another poem started. I had two beginning drafts and it wasn’t quite 5:30 AM. There was the start of a second image for the second draft, but I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I left it alone.
That was all I had that point, so I went back to bed. After a full day on campus for the first day of classes and the ritual Bachelor TV viewing, I returned to the drafts and finished the second one. I think this is a turning point of some kind, something that marks the point where my brain starts gong along with this year of poems. One can hope.