The muse car-pools with me
and is silent for most part of the journey.
It adjusts its gaze occasionally to see
if I am noticing how things can be.
But I am just focused on my ends and
what it all means to me and the world.
It doesn’t disappear yet, it waits
for the moment when the windows darken,
the wipers flail and everything is washed
in the rain, and I observe something
that rings bells: bells of charm and not alarm.
And the inner leaves rustle in a metaphorical breeze.