There’s another stack of books on my desk:
1. National Geographic’s field guide to the Birds of North America.
2. The journal I first wrote these words in.
3. Jim Harrison’s “The Woman Lit by Fireflies”.
The voice of a ghost sings through the dust on the speakers. It’s a reggae song about love and hope.
I’ll turn it up but the hour is late. So I turn it up in my mind.
I can put away the paintbrushes, it’s past 10pm and my work is done.
I freed the sketches from the cage inside my head.
Bird pun? real classy…