Counterpoint

 

Counterpoint

The others they talk

oh, they chatter

so much, so much 

to tame

their fear

In my cocoon

I may seem trapped

but I merely seek shelter

to listen to the voices of birds

spin their magic songlines

and the shrieks of ravens

in my Eden

shrieks that rip open my

oldest scars

The moon knows my every scar

and she has turned them into poetry

flutter flutter

go my wings

in the gossamer spinning

of the muses in my head

Euterpe and Erato

my very own muses

They like to dance

until the moon gives way

and they, like dust motes

in a pathway of moonlight,

finally unwind

in the swaying cradle

of my poem.

Artwork by Victoria Pettella