Sometimes, before my eyes open,
I lie still somewhere between
awake and sleep with similes
metaphors and alliteration
weaving through
my minds
gray matter
like sea-run salmon
swimming upstream
into clear fertile rivers
to spawn.
Prepared
for occasions like this,
I leave a pen with notebook
lying open on the nightstand
beneath the glow
of my reading lamp.
At other times
inspiration speaks,
quietly, unexpected,
at the diner over breakfast:
coffee, short stack,
eggs over easy.
Like a lover, hiding
among the shadows,
throwing pebbles
at my window.
If ignored, she fades
into darkness,
and all my passion escapes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem