After a week with four rejections and a months-old draft that just kept sitting there, being drafty;
after a day when I felt the lack of you,
as well as my own disappointment with myself, more piercingly than ever,
thank you, writing, nonetheless for standing by me:
thank you for moving me at 1 a.m. from what felt like sure sleep
to get up, because there was something that needed to be written,
something that kept me from sleep, something urgent enough
that I decided to get up and write it.
And thank you, even, for the four and half hours of sleep I lived with today,
because every moment at the thin edge of exhaustion,
it was there, that new piece, what I traded for sleep.