Just as I thought our words had gone
here comes Stephen
extolling the virtues of nature’s paradise.

My muse has retreated
into the recesses of my mind
She sits and watches.

She knows the turmoil underneath
but observes the veneer of calm.
Days of waiting, days of limbo.

so She is quiet. “Nothing to see here”,
She claims, “Nothing to write home about”.
The irony of that last thought almost tempts her out.

But no. She is silent still.