For two nights in a row, as I lay listening to my own heart beat, the muffled sound cupped somewhere between my ear and the pillow, my mind edited poems.  It conjured really good words as thoughts and images swayed through the swill of a brain about to sleep.  I’ve been known to turn the light on during these moments and write the stuff down.  At least get a few lines down to jog my memory if needed the next morning.  But…. for two nights in a row as, I lay listening and editing, I told my self the thought, the words could wait.  And upon waking in the morning, I find the really good thoughts have floated out the window sometime during the night…..

… Frustrating.

But not frustrating enough to make me grumpy.  Just frustrated enough to remind me why I keep paper and pens and notecards by the bed.