My muse is the head of a statue that Jack sold me years ago

at Jack’s Outback, she sits on my desk, and looks

bemused over at me as I work,

sometimes I see her smile,

sometimes she has a wise and sad look,

she knows my good parts and bad parts.

She is often disappointed in me,

but never loses faith in me.

She is beautiful, spiritual, I can feel her

even when I can’t see her eyes in the dark.

She is important to me right now,

so many things are happening, I need a muse,

every day.

I look up

at her from time to time,

I have a book coming out tomorrow, I say,

you remember it,  you helped me write it,

“yes, I know,” she says, “I remember them all,

I want to help you smile at your every idea,

laugh at your every desire,

free the spirits and angels buried in your soul,

trapped in your healing heart,

find the feelings that touch the hearts

and souls of others.”

A book is a flower tossed into the

sky, caught in the wind,

with no one to catch it.

You have to see it that way,

and love it that way, she says.