Does your muse dwell in the morning ritual,

The scent of cinnamon and honey as they melt in your tea,

Or your sweet dog’s eye as he looks at you with adoration?

Does your muse arise unexpectedly,

From the right song that comes on at the right time,

Or in the comfort of a friend’s laugh, assuring you they love you – no matter what?

Perhaps your muse lives in everything…everywhere,

Not only unveiled in the sacred lot of fortunes,

But in cracks and crevices, or in hollows where no words are found?

Perhaps your muse is steeped in the cool waters of Lake Superior…

And as you dip your hand in at the shoreline,

Your muse kisses your fingertips…then slips away,

And promises to return once again.