She Means Well

This pen doesn't like to drag     
itself across a page without a firm
yet tender touch of Muse     
     
but she called today in bittersweet bronze  
deep ash - blue and teal -     
veil torn clear     
for late light's heat to hang on the breeze      
where waves chant in her domed cathedral       
to summon her from our stubborn, wired      
collective conscious that's ceaselessly drunk      
like a tick reeling blind on only a drop    
of reality     
     
Seal bones and an albatross     
splayed and sunken on the sand     
offered up their pointless stories     
as reminders of mortality     
that even here     
and especially here     
we are ultimately alone     
     
She called     
stringing ribbons of my memories     
along on the wind, knowing well     
that some of them were strips of insipid  
paper wishes written to her -
    
and she laughed with me     
as my last paper heart     
tore and fluttered away