the white refuge
clearview to virtual greens
resting upon
mozart’s sling back canvas
head rest
reads sheet music dances.
grandma’s clock has ceased
its tick-tock
its dials show thirteen to ten.
sweet morning tea matcha
berries on white bread
the mind ‘ll paint the outlines
of another human drama
the brush will dot the I’s and
cross the t’s.
no mornings are alike
especially if you travel
from a usual working bench
to the groove of muses you
have met/adored/ loved/
and appreciated on your journey
beyond the planet/ through
the stars/ the endless universe.
soft light wetted by your dreams
the needle-prick showers stir
your body
from drowsiness to half-life/ to
full life/ to quarter-life
depending on the one kiss blown
from magenta lips
to seek her matching kind.
from artist to artist
from muse to poet.

zoltanzelan
zjg-poetry’20.