Ink on the Sheets

In the pre-dawn hours
In that place that is no place
Thoughts streak through and intersect with dreams.

Words flow like fallen leaves
Racing toward the sea.
A pen and pad are there to record ideas
to store for future telling.

Without benefit of lamp or candle

I grip the pen and let words fall.

No time for form, the scrawl will be decipherable at least.

I see the stars fall

in pieces like a jigsaw.

Behind the holes in the sky, more sky, but starless now.

The stars are captured on paper

And the ink runs onto the sheets till it runs over the edge and hits the floor.