bits of sky

fall into my lap

grow into a sweet churning pain

asking for what I know not

how I seem not to get

yet gathering the reams

of sunbeams dancing on the wall

twinkling on the floor

blazing on my head sometimes

I form reels of dreams and fantasies

and dance lost to the world

oblivious of death knocking at my door

of hatred spewing on to my person

glaring taunts of inadequacies

leaving it all to the blue god of flute

and his music playing in my heart

on and on, on and on, so on.