My muse returned,
and so I asked,
"Where have you been?"

    Waiting here beneath the din.
    Waiting for the crowds to pass.
    Waiting for the wounds to heal,
    the edges of the cuts to seal.

"But I'm not healed;
I'm yet a mess."

    Oh, certainly–
    of course,
    and yes.

    But you embrace yourself–the mess–
    and thus allow a small way in…

Text and
image © 2013 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.