My muse
called my name
from the floor of the Arboretum,
each step releasing the scent of fresh magnolia petals
that fell with the spring rain.
She came to me from out of the swamp
riding the back of a female who guards her nest
at Alligator Farm.
I heard her voice while camping at Chicot Park.
it was like a baby's scream outside our tent;
a voice disguised by a bobcat.
She always knew my thoughts when I walked the Azalea Trail
from my back door to yours.
And what a beautiful song she sang
among the cypress knees and hanging moss!
My muse
awakened my eyes
to every prairie sunrise, each brilliant rainbow,
and each newborn calf, colt, and kitten.
She showed me sparkling diamonds that wanted to cling
to spiderwebs along the wire fence in morning's mist.
She carefully placed the lacy lizard gloves
upon my kitchen windowsill.
She brought the birds to me near the pond
I am sure she wanted me to see
the cardinals dressed in boldest red...
to see him feeding his mate
with seeds
from mouth to mouth.
She was feeding me a splendid love poem.
My muse
followed me into the desert.
I knew exactly when she arrived for I felt her presence
in the first spring storm. She changed the arid air
from sterile, baked, and dried
to the scent of sweet raindrops and rushing wind.
She gave me haiku scenes:
coyotes howling at the moon,
tumbleweeds with ribbons inscribed with my phone number,
stately saguaro standing guard at my front door,
jacaranda trees with purple blooms,
a can-can dance performed by
saucy, hot pink bougainvillea,
and the glitter chair that promises
happiness to all who care to sit awhile.
But I was a fool
and slammed her fingers in the door
as if I no longer wanted to hear her voice.
Now she's gone...
and I don't know the way to Toledo.
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