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