the bones on which

to hang my words,

my early morning treat.

The morning sun-

the kiln of inspiration,

the fuel to fire

my imagination’s artist hand,

painting day’s future perfect.

I bathe in it, the silence

and the sun-dress in it.

The grey cat regards me

with his yellow eyes

and nods approval.

Carefully, I unravel the silence

like strand of embroidery floss,

and make colourful patches on my dancing skirt.

I wrap a bit around my arrows called Intent and Will,

marking them as my own.

With whoops of joy

I loose them on my day.

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