Because always the muses are heard
Location
Because always the muses are heard
in the whispers of the half-yellow hills floating awake
and also in her whispers, so eager to be aloof from me.
Because always the pen-arm desires
to be subservient to the crowing of a
far-off rooster,
pierced by its distal cries
summoning the blue fishing towns
upon the surface of a strange canvas.
And every man and every maid
yearns to have their tale told
through me, the poet incarnate;
I, who have stalked about primordial
fairy lands in their dress and makeup;
I, who have also woken to the
whispers of a thousand different muses,
discovering that nothing is pedestrian,
that all bears the mark of
ineffable tragedy,
powerful ebullience:
most importantly, a god's
cavern's depth.
Because in a thousand lives I have lost her
and will in a thousand hereafter.
Because she lies dreaming in the crudest objects,
between us a tacit understanding that I should
document her wanderings there,
beyond the veil in dream-town,
beyond all common vision and beyond my flesh.
Because always the muses are heard
within my skull:
that is why I endeavor daily to freeze
sullen ink upon the page,
why the lonesome crags endure
the incessant lashing of the sea:
that all that colors this human space
might in my ink-games dazzle
and bespeak the world entire.