My eyes like frozen navigation, transfixed in space.

Each day, a series of hurdles and animate ‘out takes’.

Someone taps my shoulder.

And something in my chest grows colder.

Please don’t erase.

Lifted off the ground to speak –

All words a dedication to the Widow’s peak.

Spin me round to Wuthering heights,

To land and fall and perfect the fight.

Nobody can reach me way up there.

The love below stands to reason – logic doesn’t care.

A hope is held by those invisible hands,

That articulate and tie together the strings of circumstance.

The drone of late night sounds, a constant hum of a sleeping house.

The muse and me we exchange and excavate in large amounts.

Something to gain from all this pain.

Fluttering to free my wings from things most precious and unseen.

As silky threads extend to capture carefully lingering dreams.

Must sleep, must eat, must create – the life I lead.

In rapture I breathe.  And wait to see.. what words might fly into me?