Glistening Ink

When ink glistens
and your love cascades beneath the quill,
your seeing may be the eyes of your muse,
holding its hovering liquid of joyful weeping
about to depart from the nib upon the page,
risking the anxious dread of satiated thirst…

Never fear

For shimmering though the words may be,
only by chance might the page fully become
the you that is the nest,
that generates the flight,
that feeds the fowl,
that becomes the plucked,
to be forever the quill
of the muse.

Such a treasured enigmatic wonder
this glistening fusion of reality and imagination.