RED MUSE POEMS  

Presence

A chair turned backwards in a room 
of red roses; shadows calling this way,
shadows from the mirrows calling that way.
The taste of sea-salt in the eyes of the friendly 
          bird; 

berries left on the chair along with a cry of delight!
the long and unsettled afternoons with laughter, wine,
          colorful phrases, fingers dipped in red
sauces, purposes slain in a dream no one mentions;

silence, the body; silence, an exhitation.

A pair of lips 
               on the soft curve of a back
is better than
           birds feet in soft hair

Hair. Mystery. Dreams from the belly. Happy joy!

Muse is the presence that makes good men dream again.
She is scent and a whir of pale flesh glimpsed in the eyes

Unloosening. Divulged to the final point where moutnains
          grow in the next million years. 

There. A presence. A Muse.