Tuesday AM
This morning is carnelian and coffee
Navy tights and burgundy leg warmers
It is vintage Santas waving at grey clouds
Typewriters holding worlds of stories in their keys
In the photo on the corner of my desk
Nonna’s gentle blue-green eyes are singing
To The Poems I Start When I’m Falling Asleep
My apologies!
You are important. You matter.
Your clever words, deep meanings,
Poignant provocations are outstanding!
It’s just that when you start
in my dream-woozy state,
scuttling like sacred scarabs
into the welcoming tufts of
lambskin, know that the sheep
are on the run, stealing you
away purposely.
Luckily, (and luck is a new friend)
the sheep return to the grazing
field in my soul each night and
I can try once more to
remember you.
VANESSA SHIELDS, writer 
There’s a bay (and a village) at Lake Tahoe called Carnelian Bay. I’d never heard the word any other place. I had to look it up. Quartz. Appropriate.
I love the typewriter’s stories.
I sometimes get ideas when I’m about to fall asleep, but the most reliable source of unbidden inspiration (is that redundant?) is my daily dog walk.
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