The Prodigal Poet

I’ve abandoned her for quite a while—six long years to be precise
But now I’m back! I’m back within her cuddling guise

I’ve been so blind on many Lindar nights
So deaf to hear even the sound of flickering lights
Or even mute to utter silence-shattering words
Wrought from thoughts that conjure a thousand lonely worlds

Was it loss of inspiration or of my treasury of words?
Or, perhaps, of imagination; or because I journeyed other literary worlds
Of myths and mores and other sheathless swords?
But now I’m back, I’m back nestled in her embracing fjords

I dip my quill and yet again
Skate it intricately on the paper’s white-
Ness Of softness Slide! on smoothness with elegant phrase
My cursive hand glides—what a sight!—across the surface

With the splotch of ink I now intend
To indite whatever words ascend
From my thought to someone else’s thought
Invoke whatever moons and suns they’d taught

But now, my Muse, I chant once more:
“Hark! I’m back!
“I’m back in lore and lust with your verses’ luck.”

- 6:30 p.m., December 4, 2003, Thursday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Years Later” by Cactus World News, [Urban Beaches; 1986, MCA])