I imagine words that become poems are like fireflies, floating in my head; flying embers, glowing amber-red, ever so briefly, lost forever if I don’t snatch them up, singeing my fingertips ink black.
shush, can you hear it?
the flicker of a new thought
becoming a word
An “Extreme Haibun” (55 words maximum for the whole poem) for Jane Dougherty’s Daily Poem Prompt.