Letting Erato Go
I’ve learned not to chase my muse,
but to watch her fly,
let the butterfly go with the wind,
rather than grabbing a wing,
dusting off the beautiful color.
I’ll capture her beauty in words:
The oranges and yellows of an autumn fire.
The blues and whites of a boundless sky.
The pinks and purples of a spreading sunset.
And I’ll dream of her,
and in my dreams we’re always together
in a cabin by a mountain lake
or riding bikes along the beach,
listening to the quiet rumble
of waves rolling in beneath the moon.
3
2
4