the blue muse

Up at sunrise to a morning filled with the kind of sun
almost too bright to be believable.

And yet, there it is, inviting me outside,
despite the meteorologist’s promise of rain.

I want to lie down on that bed of blue forget-me-nots
and forget about everything but sky.

I want to be a flower for a day, standing tall and beautiful
and blissfully ignorant of the distraction of tomorrow.

I want to bleed sunshine and color, promise and pretty,
scent and a complete lack of sensibility.

My pillow will be a cloud of non-conformity,
my blanket a crocheted spread of garrulous stars.

And my dreams will be fireflies,
lighting the way.