Wednesday, January 30, 2013

3WW: Drab, Pulsate, Tendril


All the blinds
are closed.
The drab dawn

sits like fog
outside my windows.
Inside, tendrils

of sunshine
wrap around my brain.
I'm writing a poem.

Words pulsate
on the tips
of my fingers.

Tap, tap, tap...
Black on white.
Smile, smile, smile.

Linda's Poems