My muse has fled

she’s flicked her hair

 

& disappeared.

 

She’s sick of

faithless lovers

 

rainy days,

the tick, tock,

 

of mortality.

 

My muse has left

she’s whirling with

 

the kestrel, & I’m

chasing sunbeams

 

a golden pathway

left by winged feet

 

wide expanse of

blue blue yonder

 

where the light

glistens.