Writing seven hours,

I still have no flowers

no painting to frame,

no story to name.

I am in a tower,

wrestling power,

facing stone and mortar.

I might somersault down,

not my regular routine,

but there's a trampoline 

on grassy green ground
and you with a kiss

and wise encouragement.
"Let go. You can be confident."
Time was practicing spent.
Tomorrow I'll write in a tent.