You ask me why am I this intense.
Why don't I want to sleep?
Who knows what time will do?
That's why.

I don't know where time will take me,
What it will take from me;
I only know that NOW,
I can create.

I want to do it all.
The cloud of magic that I call art
In all its many forms
Has to be released at the speed of enchantment
In the moments during which it holds me
And I hold it.
I must release it and spin it,
Fling and drop and mold and scrape
Write and design and pull and swing,
Before it leaves me of its own accord
Or before I lose my hands.

All I know is NOW
I can move.
I can and do.

I push this hard because
I don't sleep because
I dig my nails in because
I don't know how long this will last.

I don't want to be the pianist
Denied access to her instrument
And returned only to find
She now has no fingers.

Time can take it.
Time can take me.
And that is why
I take the time.

I choose to notice
That I don't have a choice.
This joy of the spectrum of creation
Cannot be silenced.

So I have to scrawl and sew and bake and eat,
Tweak and push and love and sow,
Paint and scratch and sing and dance,
While I'm here, while I'm here
While I'm here, while I'm here,
While there's air to carry me and air to breathe,
Sights to see and sights to see me.
It's all sustenance,
And to be sustained is so wonderful.
I'm pulling at the roots of creation
And sticking fingers into the pots of every muse,
Because the food they cook tastes good
And because they're there,
And I've got tastebuds.

So I'll write a poem,
Then record a song,
Write an article,
And bake a cake,

Read a book,
Plant a flower,
Sew a pillow,
Sketch a figure.

Ideas seized me,
And I'm happily in their grip.
Want to ask again
Why I'm up all night?