the poet watches silently behind the window of time the habits of both king and commoner translating seen watching into a pattern of rhyme thoughts floating through the mind like celebratory dreams of confetti and who knows what dreams may come pointing the way to future lines formed on paper pressed between pages of late understanding the flight booked for inspiration is due to depart at any second  mankind put on your seatbelts to soar under a sky full of poems that lie within the poet