vagrant ideas

at night it seems easy words almost slide
through the mind shaping the sonnet's turn
the images that come are ones you learn
as you lie tossing there from side to side
but like the later dreams they won't abide
enough to let their shapes with new light burn
into the solid record instead with stern
features they fade as each new concern
replaces them in thought with urgent claim
to sleepy self's attention and the night
insists upon its due and active cerebration
itself turns into dreams which are not tame
but urgent in themselves until the light
proclaims another day's fresh iteration