I often wake up

I often wake up
With a jumble of music
In my head

Now, I can see
A pale-yellow flower
Growing through the concrete


I could be in a field
Painting the patterns on cows
I notice an emotional switch
From monotony to endeavour

I learned to paint clouds
As a boy
By copying in class

As an adult
I’ve got a lot to learn
About clouds

There are middle class Italians
Living by the river
One was singing from his apartment window

What’s it like to be tough
And to be able to sing as well
I don’t know