Thank you, Muse, for language.
On those occasions when you whisper in my ear
or tap my shoulder with the sudden, urgent haste
that I have learned to recognize, I often fear
that what you’ve come to say to me will disappear.
Too many things press on me, and I cannot waste
whatever opportunity I make or find
to hear your always gentle promptings fill my mind
or let your fleeting inspiration be erased.
You use so little time to make your wishes clear
that I must follow quickly when you lead me here,
and search to find the subtle lines you’ve traced
upon my mind whenever you are near.
For language, thank you, Muse.

Thank you, Muse, for silence.
On far too many days which never seem to end
or drag so slowly into painful, weary weeks
that disappear into a wildly mottled blend
of blurry shards and fragments which I can’t pretend
to grasp in full—and when at last the frenzy peaks
I need to settle into semi-conscious calm
and view your blessed absence as a welcome balm.
Then, in the silence, as my memory vaguely seeks
whatever restfulness the gods and fortune send,
I still my troubled soul to see what peace you lend
to images of trees and rushing creeks,
and thank the gods that you are still my friend.
For silence, thank you, Muse.

©2007 Dorothy Miller Gutenkauf

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