Certainty teeters on the eave,
plays its paws like a stomach-settling cat.
How do I find you, she asks.
I don’t know
my reply —
“When we live in possibility
we don’t know prose or
cons of what it is we do
let your intuition be action
and your action intuition,
out of many find few
who sing these birdsongs,
whistles in the night.”
The muse winks at me
and slinks away.
“We dwell in the dark, honey,
and tomorrow is a new day.”
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