Stagnant silence drapes the room;
Outside, things are creeping, growing, happening.
A car door slams and cuts through the night.
An ocean of darkness laps against my skin,
trickles behind my eyelids. I open my mouth and swallow it.
This is when it comes to me: that sudden tidal wave of inspiration.
I scrabble for a scrap of paper on the floor –
The desk’s too far, my bed’s too warm.
Even just a pen, and then I’ll scribble on my skin,
anything to keep this ghost from slipping away.
Empty handed, I’ll memorise it this time,
Line for line. I’ll seal it tightly in my mind.
But morning drifts in, and already it’s escaped me,
but not completely.
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