In cryptic dark I rise wordful
and fully pregnant with Muse,
like a rosebud bursting, to
greet my Circian friend

Tapping, tapping, tapping she
featherly sits on my pen and
probes the infinite depths
of this age-old elusive pursuit

Like dandelion fluff on the wind
afloat to waft out of reach
that ancient one plays nocturnes
on shadows, crooning her haunting plea

Our Odyssean dance transposes
my essence and lays bare the
substance of self while
the chords she strums orchestrate

Gushing profusions of white
leaves with ant-walking
hieroglyphs which flutter from
my limbs lke metered rain

Spent and exhausted, I
raggedly sink into slumber
a final flurry and wonder
do words petal thoughts into bloom
or spring full-blown from the Muse?

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