Oath

Another poem died inside my head
last night. I was too dozy to stir
and jot down the needed word or two
for it to re-bloom when I awoke.

This morning I'm wearing the shirk of responsibility
to my pencil and pad and to the well
of dreamy thoughts from where
things sometimes come.

The siren's wail winds slowly up,
reverberating throughout my skull.
"Search everywhere, look in
all the old boxes and crannies again,"
for any glimpse or trace
of something that might restart the clip
that had played inside my sleeping head.

So here I sit, stuck with only pale impressions
of a young girl who winks at me
from the clickity Super 8 frames.
She now scolds me over coffee
to swear the oath once more.
To get up and write it down next time and
never sleep through her scene again.