The Earth is your muse. You robe your human muse in imagined fabrics, designed from the patterns of lichens and mosses on Her stones. Her moths display themselves beside your door. Their wings bear code in bright colours, or delicately drawn ciphers in black and white. Her moths carry messages of your earthbound muse. Pots made from Her clay, in Her ochre, sienna, bistre, hold the branches of apple blossoms or the pale stalks of heavy-headed grasses you give to your muse. You cannot consummate your love of the Earthmuse. Instead, you give Her power to a woman you may touch, a woman to whom you may give your heart and your body. A woman whose eyes draw you down into the cave or tease you to follow her flights. Compel you to climb mountains or stumble through dense undergrowth. Charm you to lie by the sea on warm red sandstone or at the cedar’s foot on moist cool green moss. All you associate with the woman is of the Earth, your muse. You, simple, have given Her human form.
The first of the series, Island Poems. The series will continue soon.
