The Obscure Muse

Do you know her ?

She winters in the corner
with lamplight, old books
and hours veiled
in the spider’s mantilla.

Do you hear her ?

She writes of rain pour
as it coldly descends
the garden steps.

Her sentences
that do not freeze
but issue lines,

a woman’s rib
broken in dashes
and aching
for completion --

a poem’s thought,
her lover’s promise.