The blues in this particular illumination are phenomenal in person. They are fantastic. Seeing those paintings was the first time i actually considered being an art thief. In a home not dreamed yet. By a man not born yet. But he will be someday. Because the sun is rising, and these days i believe in colors. Azuli the dye maker slaves over the night through. Which has got me singing hope like the blue-jay. And writing verses to be hung from the midday sun. For the baby being born now. For the sound the wind makes in the rye. For the thousand tongues of babel. Each beautiful without a doubt. Each telling a story worth telling. Of boys becoming men, and men, boys again. Beautiful women who held them up. For the first notes of the blue-jay, on my window this morning, singing. Much of my poetry however is inspired by art pieces i see and observe. And it argues that there is indeed a special relationship between writing, painting, and all the rest of it. Dali, along with others.