the cold room paints my feet blue

a silent luminescence colors

water in the softest greens

a bird cries high and

sharpens the morning glow

wakens my brain

i draft new lines

the first in a sunday morning spree of words

i carry myself back

to the organ

let waves wash over me

darkness covers my characters

casts light on my pen

illuminates the pictures in my mind

i watch the twinkling across the bay

the muse drifts by

provokes images

visions too fevered to write

i loose myself

in the muse’s arms for a while

and when i wake

i find myself alone on a path

to a predawn nowhere