She walks in hurry,
as though in love with the moon.
Her head high, her feet low
her mind not in her head;
not even close!

She walks fast,
past them, past you
past everyone she knows
and smiles,
only when
my presence lays in her view.

She walks fast,
and once or twice
I was lucky enough to be there,
to hear her breath
to taste her smell.
To have a chance
to be loved,
to be touched by those hands.

You all have seen her.
Her bag in one hand
the other occupied
by lost love; by love gained.

By pieces of love
she found on the ground
that she took,
that she made her own
by taking them,
inside her soft heart.

You all probably know her
by her short hair,
her sweet smile,
and her angry gaze.
But I know her
by her long, silver
curly hair
and her loving
oh, that loving, sweet gaze.


3 thoughts on “Muse

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