Manic

The rustling leaves tossed by

the gentle breeze outside my window

are no lullaby tonight.

A song both old and new invites me,

begs me, “Stay awake. Think. Create.”

Somewhere in the galaxy, a supernova

has erupted and illuminated the sky.

I swear I can see it through my ceiling.

Breathtaking, how brilliantly the light

floods my room - is this enlightenment?

A beast calls for me in the distance.

A wolf, perhaps? It implores me to dance

and howl under the crested moon,

empathetic to the restlessness in my legs

and the pull of my feet to move wildly.

I toss and turn in my bed

as if a tidal wave has overtaken me

and sent me rolling! flailing! trying

to swim in the depthless ocean that

my imagination has become.

My eyes are tired, but my vision…

it is limitless, desperate to show me

something in the vast expanse

that is my wondering. Why else

would leaves rustle outside my window?