A poem lives above the clouds, beneath the sea,
and sends its tender voice on shimmered wings to me.
I do not hear because my world runs crazy-fast,
and its deliciousness has gone away, has passed.
I need to tune my ear to my dear muse’s voice,
stop all my busyness, and rather make the choice
to pay attention. She won’t carry anything
that doesn’t shine like gold or absolutely sing.
When I am still I hear her whisper in the dark.
Shh, poet, listen for the gifts I hold for you.
Come with me on my journey. I await. Embark
upon my ship and we’ll explore far lands anew.
First Bon Voyage, a stolen glance, my quiet stance.
So long I’ve waited. Now I partner in this dance.