Muse

Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs that don't quite match, widening tight circles of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters songs about happenstance. When a server drops a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later. Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops. Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief, my journal's at home. You say, All's fine. but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf, curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines. Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage self-determined verse while on the same page. *For Kathryn