Lilith at Home

Sitting delicately at the work table with paints
in a cold tiled room lined with cold desire.
The moon glows through the window
creating a palette for my longing. The future
sits beside me. I feel certain of the recipe
I’m concocting. So shut the window.
But I won’t shut the window.
Blue, yellow, red are my future birds.
A metal case holds what I need in this life.
Much smaller, I flutter toward knowing.
I’m not Mercury the messenger. I’m the typist,
listening for directions.