When the muse comes

when the muse comes,
soaring over white oceans
that spray little sun specks
around my feet, she’ll see
my foot-made craters, white washing
into the expanse. inside me, she’ll burrow deep.
she’ll see mountains rise and fall;
moons come and go; craters deep with
a boy in failing youth running through.
she’ll see honeybees and suckles
drooping when fall comes with a chill.
when the muse comes,
she’ll see a girl with a bonnet, pale and at home,
and a boy with a rocketHat, sore and alone.
in the clouds and mist, his shadows turn grey
when she looks away,
when the muse comes.

(August 2005)

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