... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... girl ..., ... heartsick ..., ... hymns ..., ... L.F. ..., ... life ..., ... lips ..., ... love ..., ... night ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... the South ...

muse, beloved

she woos me
from soul slumber
in the way
rain drips from a
sad, weighted leaf.

she hums a siren’s hymn
in the tender
first-crack-of-light
birdsongs that fill the
world never revealing
the singers.

when the sky
is that impossible
purple between
black and gray,

and faces are shadowless
in the decaying dark,

and heartbeats restart
beneath night-torn sheets
and restlessness is over
and the solitude of day brings
this one single, simple hope –
that although today may
not be any better than
yesterday, at least I
have survived another night.

and so my delicate muse,
that so often has inveigled
me away from the edge
of some great, and deep chasm,
is also the very one shoving
me from behind – in love –
that I might tumble and fall
and experience the
the fullness of its
Cimmerian depths.

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