Poem: A Night at the Improv

A Night at the Improv

The light is not always good.
At times clouds, external and internal
block the light, or at least some of it.

But still, you paint what is there.
Shadows and half light
and things not quite in focus.

You have become accustomed to a lack of focus.
Things less certain. Fog and light and mystery,
aware God sometimes works

on a need to know basis, and you need to know
far less than you once thought.
Yours a life of improv. Miscues and genius

in equal measure. If not predictable,
it is at least,
never dull.

About this poem.

I used to think life was controllable. Silly me. Now I settle for influenceable.

On a good day.


PS: The picture was taken in my studio on a bad light day.


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