Morning sun beams through slats.
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Windows open and salt air wafts.
Alone with first cup of coffee.
She sits clearing webs of sleep.
Dreamcatcher sways banishing phantoms.
Stained glass casts rainbows to glimpse.
Hard drive hums and issues it's call.
While dark blue eyes gaze at walls.
Van Gogh's art does inspire.
And photos also fuel her fire.
Grandfather clock ticks in corner.
Transcending minutes into hours.
Fingers poised on keys her mind sparks.
She runs towards the light from the dark.
Even though she's not written of late.
It felt like years but was only days.
This writer's voice hindered felt so empty.
At last the famine is over and I feel free.