Emerging from the spotlight glare,
I watched, enraptured, spooked by the divine,
the whispering ghost of poetry, of words
teased out and song like, capturing the mood,
capturing the daylight pulse, sweetly tempered
by a trumpet which plays in the ether
and calls to the angels, they have to find room
somewhere, for here on Earth, it seems one
has escaped and sinks her blush free lips into
a mortal man’s vision, tasting it in her mouth,
tasting it go round and round, sideways
she chews it over, relishing the genius