Note to Velazquez
12 by 12 collage on paper
When I Met My Muse
I glanced at her and took off my glasses
off...they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew the nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. 'I am your own
way of looking at things,' she said 'when
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation.' And I took her hand.
Wm Stafford
2 comments:
Meeting our muse.....love that thought and the idea of it being a she. Your posts always inspire me, Marie.
Thanks so much Carole! I love Wm Stafford's poem...our own way of seeing is the muse/angel.
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