Muse

…& quite like a glacial gleam
mesmerizing fantasy
The morning breath of evergreen
Still wakes me in the need;
No less than an angelic touch
descending down upon my hand
Not without your sinuous rush
of dewdrops smudging
my visual glands
Could I tear the seams of clay creation
& give it gales of memory
To seek its own place of birth
& inform to me the imagery
Not without your keyhole view
Passed down to me intuitively
Could words adopt a sudden cue
To invent a new identity
Behind the murmur of life’s parade
Is the muteness of a cabaret
In union with my emotion’s lore
The euphoric spark of another’s chord