Spontaneity.

Spontaneity.

When it comes,
it flows down the
windows
through the windows panes
it blows
and flows through me
and spatters in spills
over my table
on the page
I carefully
take every drop of it
Sometimes it forms
a poem
sometimes a story
sometimes a painting
it comes
as it goes
through the windows
to make a landscape
my page
my colours
my words
my voice
none is enough to contain it
so it blows
like a whirlwind
picks me up
in the air
takes me above my feet
in the sky
keeps me hovering
The spontaneity
is thy name
You are stupendous.