Here’s a weird thing. I had to get up at 3:40 PST Monday am. I was in the taxi by 4:00. And on the way to the airport I wrote a poem.
I don’t write poems. Have only written four of my own free will until this one. I don’t mean only four good ones. I mean the poetic impulse has only descended upon me four times in my life until the taxi ride. It makes me wonder what I’m missing by not getting up in the middle of the night.