after much thought, Jack, and much watching,
I must say that I disagree:
while no, we must not wait for her silvery flashes,
you cannot chase her down with a club, I fear.
she is the timidest of all fragile creatures,
mist-fine, shyer than summer snow;
she bruises easily, for she is tender & swelled with the magic we seek.
she will not be hunted, she is sharper than us
she will hide over horizons beyond our ken
she will slipslide into darknesses we cannot reach
beyond saltwater, stars, ends and beginnings
she is the heartbeat of the butterfly,
she chases gold along the edges of our reality
she is a mirage and so painfully real
you cannot pursue such a creature with the brutality of mortal force.
coax her. let the strains of sound like raindrops of starlight play.
close your eyes. her whispers will be faint,
almost faded, but when you hear them --
a soulquake of colours, like the most miraculous of sunrises,
the most peaceful and blessed of firestained sunsets.
assure her. approach her as an equal, another magical being:
flutter your wings, sharpen your fangs, weave webs with her.
play her music, offer her gifts, offer her your open heart.
she will wait. behind every blockage, she will wait.
embrace her frail form, and she will turn the world
into all the wonders you've ever dreamed.
because she subsists on your dreams;
this is a two-soul spinning dance.
“Don't loaf and invite inspiration; light out after it with a club, and if you don't get it you will nonetheless get something that looks remarkably like it." - Jack London