Three Bells

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.