I Couldn't Sleep

A draft horse saddle on the dining room floor. A bad memory. Obviously it's there to be cleaned. Cleared? The neighbors are always talking. Right now I'm just writing but later I won't be. This is writing, too. Dreams are a confirmation and in a way a difficulty. What you know you know and what you know you know you share. It's early yet for blueberries. This is not the writing that I read last night when I couldn't sleep and sat on the porch waiting on a bear. Such divine prose! I'm focused on not focusing and that's how it is now. She's talking and as always that's enough. The pile of trash hidden out back gets bigger by the day. That's the way of jumbled sentences, better get used to it. That's coffee, older and older and older. Clouds obscured stars both named and unnamed and there was plenty of wind. We for whom the family narrative matters. The moon was visible through the neighbor's grape arbor, but only just and it was fine, it was better than fine.