She was editing around encroaching sleep,
shifting words on an alphabet sea.
Dreams. Visions. Fantasy.
The lone surviver in a shipwrecked story,
tossing words overboard in allegory.
Fogged. Caffeinated. Solitary.
How long before her wavering gaze failed to linger?
How many revision waves to escape the danger?
Slumping. Nodding. Slumber.
©May 2016, July 2020 Christina Anne Hawthorne