Once again I wait for you, pen poised:
Muse: come to my bidding…
Yet I know you shudder
at such a crude full-frontal approach –
terrified to be squeezed
beneath my urban, urbane, expectations,
pinned down under any cheap phrase
that clips your range.
For you are like the quetzal bird,
that always dies when caged…
your feathers only shine
when blown apart by the breeze
your eyes sparkle best
across land-less seas.
I put down my pen,
knowing you are flying close as ever,
but mute now.
You will sing again
and brush-tickle my inner ear
…but only when I no longer expect you,
and my notebook’s mislaid.