I dance for my supper,
joyous as an autumn wash.
Redemption,
perhaps, drawing shadows in the twilight.
Tiredness weeps;
baskets full of abstract.
Alone in thought,
waiting for the inspiration to arrive:
three bells,
a warning,
performing their attitudes.
Chronicles remembering the past,
flooding the soul with an avalanche.
Curiosity,
emotions,
a drip feed of stories through time.
Always spontaneous,
always in sync—that eureka moment.