Day 7

For today’s prompt, write a “what won’t wait” poem. Only you know what won’t wait. Maybe it’s falling in love or work–or death (one of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems is about this topic). Something else that won’t wait is today’s prompt.




What Won't Wait


I don't know if it is just the circuitry of veins
I know I feel I am, minute by minute,
more made of rivers, rivulets, joining


I feel my hands pool
their surfaces widen some
a little, into lakes
small still 
but still
mountain lakes
and an animal moves,
breaking a fallen twig
as it goes wherever it goes.


My hands are lakes.
And my legs now: I don't know.
My mind surrounds with bark, maybe
Or moss or just numb
something thickening and
glowing just some
like a dark path 
in a dark wood
that leads to what is here now


just almost
the sleep that won't wait


that turns me into a 
joins me at
water here and


i am the lake
I am adrift on


sleep