When I Met My Muse

   I glanced at her and took my glasses
  off — they were still singing. They buzzed
  like a locust on the coffee table and then
  ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
  sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
  knew that nails up there took a new grip
  on whatever they touched. “I am your own
  way of looking at things.” she said. “When
  you allow me to live with you, every
  glance at the world around you will be
  a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand.
~William Stafford