There is no art
But madness—
She conjures the dream
And I the passion.
Calliope: Muse of Poetry
A bird in the house?
No…
Not a bird—
A visitant, a nymph,
A sprite,
A genius of the place;
She’s in the background
Waiting to respond
To certain events
Such as my writing
Late at night
Labouring over a poem
With no one home.
She inspires me
With her longing
For a body,
A shelter, a house
But all I have to offer
Is myself
In these words…
And thankfully,
she’s content
With nothing else.