what have you done
with the missing art
did you hide it
submerged in
a secret cavern deep
within your abdomen
where has it gone
it has flown
from the schools
like a flock of birds
driven from the field
their nests left cold
or has it bled away
on the pulse of life
too busy, too full
the muse of our collective
anxious, anemic, hands clasped
in the hospital waiting room
but, where? but there
is no room for it here
my ribcage is full
of tragic news
my head is full of
thoughts of survival
what we have
instead isn’t better
our fingers dull and thick like
we’ve taken too much salt
in effort to add flavor
to the graying hues
where is the missing art
that has only to be sought
the pale muse places flowers
on the nightstand
awake! the rising sun
ignites a storm of color
where has she gone – has she left
we tear tubing from our flesh
machines chime in alarm
we are moving to the door
when we realize it’s still night
moon glowing blue through the blinds
yet we dream now in color
the shadow below the sill
a deep pool of violet
a green glass vase edged with light
flowers crowned by the moon with
a faint aura of rose and amber