Deepest dreams

I'm listening to the songs of Birdy on repeat,

loving her voice and the simple pure clarity

of the way she

plays the notes on the piano.

These new fresh sheets of January lie open before me.

Like a freshly laundered bed.

Simple.

There are things to do today.

The poet and songbird in me wants to fly.

To soar above the mountain tops

where a terrible beauty lies

and all the while listen to the tinkling of the bells

in the valley far below.