You brought me words ever so often
– you still do now and then.
When I read yours, I wonder whence they come to you,
how and when.
I wonder if you pick them lying flat
or nudge them out of a difficult chair.
Do they perch on your window? Do you leave them at the station?
Do they get away with mussing your hair?
I picture you drawing them out of smoke
and settling them with a mere stub.
When I try to puff while writing
my thoughts go out and lose their nub!
Pausing, thinking, crossing, nodding –
until you're through, do you push food away?
Dazing, looming, peaking, falling,
do they prefer Nyx to the light of the day?
I was a lover and I found a muse –
the one aye invoked in lore,
Her kiss with the mark of Love I did confuse
as it left a sear on my core.
Rapt with all that Absinthe in my veins
I staggered to seize her fading contour.
Alas, she vanished! yet her gift remains.
Old masters, I envy you no more.
DoubleSpeak 