Visit of the Muse
Rain turned to snow and evening to night.
I paced the cabin and scratched my name
in window frost before the Muse settled beside me giving dictation
by firelight, her kitten voice purring a cadence
to the altar of forgetfulness, whispering through
the midnight hour.
Before daybreak the onion had peeled and layers
exposed. She stared at me, clasped my hand
and disappeared in gray dawn shadows without saying goodbye
or telling where the dreams lay buried.
In silence before the storm flurries returned to rain
and dawn crept across the pages and clawed at
the written words. I shoved a log on the embers,
poured a cup of coffee and read words I forgot to forget.
Rain tapped at the window and my name disappeared
with the frost as pages turned to ashes
on the altar of forgetfulness.
Barbara Tate is a member of the Haiku Society of America, Gulf Coast Writers Association and the United Haiku and Tanka Society. Her work as appeared in Bear Creek Haiku, Frogpond, Cattails, Modern Haiku, Contemporary Haiku Online, Magnolia Quarterly, Poet's Art, Storyteller Magazine, Iconoclast, Santa Fe Literary Review, WestWard Quarterly, Restoring the Circle and Haiku Journal among others. She currently lives in Winchester, TN.