A*muse*ing

My muse is not of
this world or the other
It is a we
in the space between
the here and the there
in the trailing
vibration of laughter
and sobbing tears
in the swift air
shifting
from a clapping hand
or an owl's wing flapping
in the taste of sweetness 
that speaks in a tongue
heard by all who can hear
the beating of one heart
in the soul of the poet of life
scribing the language of
love for all
for one

You are the voice that sings the song my soul knows