I woke, with Michael Nau’s infectious “On Ice”

bounding, brilliantly, and luminous amongst the morning’s vectors of thought. 

“What does it matter how we turn on the light? Baby, just turn off the dark”.

The melody, so strong was it, that, it made me rise to prise open the balcony doors

to the sound 

of bird song.

There is a light with infinite possibility.

So, I play the song four times whilst brewing coffee.

The race, to cage, the endless well.

A magic floats under me and with clarity I see handfuls of art that have mapped the well before.

Finding cinema in my early twenties, dancing to Springsteen whilst cooking.

The film has been made, the song is recorded, it will always be there.

To learn how to view it, is where its value rests.

Yet, as I write there is an anxiety that accompanies the clear vision’s departure.

To be gifted all lifted sensations in the same moment and remain calm.

A risen window that looks out over higher rays.

The race, to cage, the endless well.

Visions that can’t be chased to the bottom.

Their hues are there in mass, to ring out, to permeate newer fields of memory.