What the Muses Leave Behind

Twas bilious and the swarthy slugs Did writhe and flitter in the salt. Oh scabby were the wifflewugs and the cherry fop all at fault.   Go beckon the dragon crone my dear, With eyes that know and tongues that tell. Escape the banshee prattle and wear Your gooseflesh proud as night fall.   She took her hazel wand in hand. For years the venerable sage she sought Then squatted she by a mimosa tree and gave her rambles some thought.   And as she combobulated her quest The dragon crone on nimble wings Came swooping past in gingham vest, Her digits lined with rings.   One and two, around and through The hazel wand did swirls and swishes. She touched that tail and bound her spell with a Brideog 1 of rushes.   I see you have met the dragon crone! Let’s dance, my fabulous lassie. Oh, licorice dreams, oh jelly belly screams. In glee they spun faster and fastie.   Twas bilious and the swarthy slugs Did writhe and flitter in the salt. Oh, scabby were the wifflewugs and...

I never knew you as a fish nor a fern, never as fig nor fox .     I wish I’d known you a s the elm before th e blight, pre- 1922 .     I can see you now, tall and buxom, your vibrant June crown.     I never knew you as a Bandersnatch 1 nor banshee, never as    basilisk 2 nor bigfoot. It’s good we never met as dragons, ruby   scaled and fuming, a fountain of sparks to bring us breathless.     I never knew you as gesture nor high five, never as stomp dance   nor sigh. I did mistake you once for a moan cast low across the   deadfall, tide of gloaming saturated with small secrets.     I never knew you as disappointment nor cartwheel,    as keening nor balloon bouquet. I heard you hum the tune    on my tongue; simple notes to drift with a cold, riffled stream.     I never knew you as the word of God nor fable, fairy tale or myth. I’ve learned to hold your gaze, ubuntu 3 , beside a ...