The sound of leaves falling
Makes me smell paint
Early in the morning I feel
The rain before it comes
Blowing against my outstretched
Hands I hold the light.
And I carry it within until night
But it is the moon
That lets me sleep and tears
Away my dreams too soon
They grow like flowers and die inside themselves
Shattering their seeds into mirrors of glass
I see myself looking in to.
In my own painting
Quietly awaiting to be painted over.