Rhapsodic

eyes, suddenly open in the night (mine) misty (they) panting, sweating (me) I bleed some words onto a page how do they feel? (these words) what are they trying to say? (to you) what do they want? (from me) I sleep again fitfully words…pages…books…writing flashing through my thoughts maybe these thoughts are dreams is a dream a wish? a thought an action? I must have slept for it is morning now and I am calm the page looks at me (expectantly) I ignore it it wants too much of me always demanding but don’t they know that I love them? (these words) I sweat over them nurture them I want them to be quiet (tranquil) I want them to grow up (be whole) I can ignore the screams no longer I carry the page to my desk and consume its patterns is it happy? (this page) does it need feeding some more or is it replete? another word drips unbidden to the page to fall among its siblings is it happy with where I put it? has the page accepted it? it seems so, because the weight and shape seem balanced the page has stopped its incessant noise and the words have settled comfortably but when I read it does it say what I wanted? (to you, to me)