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.
Advertisements
