Like a Spring-time storm

My words poured over the page

Filling in the white

Like a frightening flash flood

After a few months in drought.


Just as abruptly,

My words will dry on the page,

Where they will remain,

Untouched, perhaps forgotten,

Until the next storm passes.

Crisp unread paper
Bound in a leather cover
Each new page reveals
Black inked words floating above
A white canvas for dreamers.