Another minor miracle occurred today: I wrote song lyrics. Now, to me, it’s a poem with rhymy bits and a tempo I can hear in my head.
It’s also a poem written in character again. I still don’t understand how this happens, but I’ll take the writing any way it comes to me.
She sits in a tree
And she looks out to sea
She flies with the birds and dives into dreams
What does she see when she looks at me?
Has the heart of a saint
A pure killer she ain’t
Walking the clouds and drawing them down
What does she see when she looks at me?
You, you, you
By every star in the sky
It will be you, you, you
Until the day I die
She feels the whole world
With her senses unfurled
Pressing in with its sin and its majesty
But what does she see when she looks at me?
The Painted Corner 