Just loud enough to fend off Dreamtime.
I roll to my right side, settle the covers below my chin, listen for the ancient voice of Owl.
Shift to the other side. Think about publishing a chap book, getting the novel into your hands, making an author’s trailer.
Sometime after 4 AM, I feel for my journal, pad into the bathroom, rummage for the flashlight, let the poem boil over in uneven words.