Awake this morning, 5:31 a.m.

Tools of the trade play on a mind
Focused, in frustration, on the web

Unavailable, in the here and now,
As I wrack said instrument for lines

That Milton penned in his invocation
To that wry Christian humanist muse.

Of a notebook, Rebecca’s drop cloths
And Inktense blocks of a color scheme,

I spy on the red cover of a spare bed,
Before I think to pull out my Canon G16

And angle myself down to sore knees
On the hard floor for a studied shot.

(Terrazza Bella, 6:19)