the Table of Speaking

Most Muses work with me from afar.
Fickle illusions sent to stimulate
a cranky non-poeting poet.
I swore off them. Decided –

Walked away into the bright light
of annihilation and bliss, into
that place of Mystics and Wanderers
(and that was okay! I was fairly content
in that abyss of emptiness)

And then — you called me, or
I stumbled accidentally into
You. And You — Lord! More stubborn
than I, than any other Muse before You
showed up all flash and sparkles and
deep-sight serious wise and you can

Sing! Damnit! You woke me up!
And so I trudge to the Table of Speaking,
pick up the cursed pen, and start saying
your name in the silences that come
between the wing beats of my heart.

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