I admit I was scratching for topics when I came up with this one. But I am fascinated by that state between waking and sleeping when words let go of my mind and images take over. So I tried writing into that. The poem (the next-to-last-poem) can be found at Tupelo, of course. (You've figured that out by now.) 

Between Sleeping and Waking

A picture rises, each line distinct—a jar of purple fruit,

pale flesh pressed to glass, shadows a midnight blue. Then green

shade moving, an August field I passed on Gardener Hill

and when that image stutters, I’m in a stable, watching

a horse lift her head, turn it away. In a story I don’t recognize

on some high afternoon, at the heart of a rural summer. All around me

the rustle of animals. I am looking into a broad shaft of                               and sunlight floating in the yellow air—sparks of dust. 

Titles drive me crazy. First this one was just, “Falling Asleep”, then “Dream Starter” which ended up sounding too “cute” and now it’s “Between Sleeping and Waking” which feels ham-handed. There’s a word for this stage of sleep: hypnogogia. But who’s going to read a poem titled “Hypnogogia”? Anyone out there got a suggestion? I’d be grateful.

And speaking of gratitude, I want to thank each and every one of my patrons. You guys came through with a great collection of prompts. I felt way luckier than some of my cohort who did have to rise to some pretty impenetrable challenges. A poem a day for 30 days? That was challenge enough for me. Thank you so much, friends.