She’s left me
for some other
poet; she’s
left me
alone
with
empty
inkwell,
crowded thoughts
{about nothing much}
and the tick-tock
of time infernal.

I initiate
game of hide-and-seek,
knowing full well
it is she who
must come
to me.
I conjure
her image,
utter mindless
incantations
until I fall
asleep.

When I wake
and think I’ve
sensed at last her
elusive presence, I
grab paper and pen,
listen intently.
All I hear is her
enchanted laughter
echoing taunts
in the night,
and I am not
amused.