The Muse Plays a Red Guitar (Albatross)

i)

The muse

play a red guitar, skin like ebony,

deserts me feeling

forlorn. Foregone

conclusions leap about and all that's

missing is the proof

for all that

talk

takes us nowhere.

The muse looks blue when he's beautiful

and rises in coils and flames

away from his face, bent

over strings.

His fingers pluck

and his eyes sing Hallelujah

to one more king.

ii)

Everything shows on my face.

What we do,

what we do to each other without looking.

I don't want to fight with you.

I don't want to fight you or be your wife

with all the trimmings,

all the trappings.

I don't mean to trap him,

though he feels it.

Afterward, after

words and his eyes are owlish,

bird caught in lime,

lines,

lime-light.

iii)

My albatross is heavier today,

wings toward morning.