What the Muses Leave Behind

Even under a merry morning sky Her mind drags its shirt tails  through gray slurry. Best medicine - work, she thinks a nd  The yard offers her a blanket of leaves. Rake in hand, she starts at the sidewalk. It's a slow transfer, this brittle, brown tide crawling toward the street, still Worry chafes her shoulders. He just shows up,  Blind to the melancholy under her rake. He fixes instead on his favorite fall ritual -  C an I help? with  kind chatter,  contagious. Now t he sycamore and maple surge swells  With  ample energy  to waylay her troubles. Gloom tumbles with  every tarp load  to the front ditch. Soon two rakes return to the shed, and Thank you - her prayer to him.

My back pocket fills with moons Orbit as friend, and I’ll choose well. I stand beside you, we touch crowns, Stars chase us, our penumbras race ahead. Orbit as beloved, maybe I’ll choose again. Heroes rise like cream with a little agitation While shadows cross penumbral paths, We wait for what was here all along. Heroes rise like dreams with a little work. Now we come to save the day! It wants for nothing, safe already. Best hang travail behind the favor. Here we are to save the hero! I stand beside you, we touch tongues. Ready to kiss the shadows away, My back pocket fills with galaxies.