Muse’s Message

I am distant memory
rising. Earthworm
aerating compost
in your dreams.
A tunnel, torchlit.
The way out, or in.
The hand you squeeze
for comfort. The hand
that slaps your face.
Your relentless race,
never-ending chase.
A glass of ice water
in Arizona in July.
I am not a lie. I’m sugar
on the spoon that makes
the medicine of your life
slip slide right down.
Your Mary Poppins.
Your Sadie Hawkins.
Asking you to dance.
But will you join me?

Photo by Anh Tuan To on Unsplash