28 april 2011 = 18 moon This morning the poem wrote itself fast and first before my unusual intro. I realize I am now addicted to giving myself over to the poetry muse every morning. It’s what starts my day and sends me out into the world. Poetry month comes to a close and I am just beginning. the wind rocked the house last night. trembled me deep into folds of cover it wrestled my dreams into a flurry of April storm grey where the waters rise subterranean my breath is lost to a drown that consumes my spring green smothers my red buds rails and rolls screams and hellions the busy dreamers hunger for silence. it comes in Sun light sheets cast over the dreamers body drawing the drown away to another woman’s sea awakened to silence laid wide open where the night wrath is lost to the rise of a new day.