Muse

Sometimes I dream you,
misbegotten thing that you are.
Sometimes, in the dark depths of my midnights,
I find you fishing in the grottoes of my memory,
reeling out strange, pale fish,
crooning over them,
and tossing them back in.

Sometimes I see you,
a glimpse out the corner of my eye.
Sometimes it's startling, like turning the corner
to find yourself face-to-face with an empty hallway
where you expected your high-school nemesis,
or that girl you never liked.
Sometimes it's not.
_________Am I wrong?
_________ You tapped me on the shoulder yesterday
_________ when I wasn't thinking of you,
_________ and shook your head yes.
_________ 'It surprises me that you can exist without my attention',
_________ I told you. You laughed in that one way,
_________ like silver bells shattering to bits.

Sometimes I worry that having you in my head is unusual,
because I look around at my friends, and they all seem so lonely.
And sometimes you tell me I must have done things right back then, in my quietude,
spinning you out of air and starlight and a healthy dose of
brackish pondwater,
which explains your bitterness.
And I stand in the grotto and say
"Sometimes I dream you,
"misbegotten thing that you are,"
And you laugh at me as you throw back my fish.


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