The Muse

You’re difficult to interpret, you little, disembodied imp,
who, poised crossed leg and stretching at my keyboard,
urges me to write, but flirts me away from concentration.
Stripped of the physical,
you have taught me how much attraction
blends with intellect ,
blends with ageless sensibility,
blends with spontaneity,
blends with art.
Child of the land of my forefathers,
you lead me to examine their faith
and separate what I take as inheritance, and
what I set to the curb.
Correcting my grammar,
shaking my beliefs,
inspiring my spirit,
supporting my growth,
you make me wish that I was like you:
humble,
giving,
untameable,
free.