Dear Muse,

Oh I was yours before you
laid eyes on me, my course

predicted by a white wing
adrift: lone vessel voyaging,

voyaging— Sometimes I lose
sight of the latitudes and turn

the rudder wrong ways. No one,
least of all you, will come

to rescue me, though I am
your prodigy. Under the moon

I do my best to persevere,
my brilliant darling—

The stars so bright
on the surface of the well,

your fingers clasped
so beautifully, the way

you lead a body
into the dance.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Fee.

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